New York

A walk in NY is like a walk in the woods – except instead of the whisper of the wind in the pines, you hear the snatches of other people’s lives.  12 floors below my bed is a perfect cacaphony of noise –  jackhammers, horns, sirens, 4 am shouts, garbage can crashes – but slip onto the morning street, slip between the rushing people, and listen:

Suited man, loud, into a cell in the middle of the dark street:  “You gotts be there – I am not standing in front of that judge with no authority…”

Taxi driver:  “…(Arabic)… No shit! …(Arabic)…

Indian accent:  “But she is the one who is intolerant of the ceremony…”

“The gum was all over Parry Street…”

“Well, why can’t you…?”

“It’s inherent, intrinsic, can’t you see…?”

“So I told him – no bathtubs – everybody wants showers.  Besides…”


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