The senses of NYC
One of the things about this city that I used to call home is how one takes it in.
I see the city. The skyline that is familiar. The tall buildings and how they reach to the skies when you are directly under them, and the shadows they cast into the streets. The sight of traffic during the daytime as you see dozens to hundreds of yellow cabs. The sight of traffic at night when you see their headlights stretching towards infinity almost at night. When you peer over the edge of the subway platform looking for the lights of the next train to arrive. The sights of people as they stream by, adjusting for how you're going to navigate through the sea of bodies.
The smells are mixed. The pollution and garbage as you descend into the subways. The mixture with the smell of street food from all the vendors. The smell of people who haven't bathed because they're homeless. The smell of crowded subway cars during rush hour.
The sounds are of sirens from police/fire/ambulance emergency vehicles. Car alarms and honking horns at all hours. The throngs of people speaking languages from all over the world. The music being played by those trying to earn a living in the streets and parks and subway stations. The beep of the metropass and the clicks of the turnstyles and the rumbling of the subway.
The touch is only of the crowds during rush hour.
The taste is one thing that reminds me most of this place I call home. The pizza, the bagels, the potato knishes, the Jamaican beef patties, the street pretzels, and almost anything you can get off a street vendor. Any sort of ethnic food you want prepared by someone of that ethnicity usually less than a short subway ride away.
That is NYC.
I see the city. The skyline that is familiar. The tall buildings and how they reach to the skies when you are directly under them, and the shadows they cast into the streets. The sight of traffic during the daytime as you see dozens to hundreds of yellow cabs. The sight of traffic at night when you see their headlights stretching towards infinity almost at night. When you peer over the edge of the subway platform looking for the lights of the next train to arrive. The sights of people as they stream by, adjusting for how you're going to navigate through the sea of bodies.
The smells are mixed. The pollution and garbage as you descend into the subways. The mixture with the smell of street food from all the vendors. The smell of people who haven't bathed because they're homeless. The smell of crowded subway cars during rush hour.
The sounds are of sirens from police/fire/ambulance emergency vehicles. Car alarms and honking horns at all hours. The throngs of people speaking languages from all over the world. The music being played by those trying to earn a living in the streets and parks and subway stations. The beep of the metropass and the clicks of the turnstyles and the rumbling of the subway.
The touch is only of the crowds during rush hour.
The taste is one thing that reminds me most of this place I call home. The pizza, the bagels, the potato knishes, the Jamaican beef patties, the street pretzels, and almost anything you can get off a street vendor. Any sort of ethnic food you want prepared by someone of that ethnicity usually less than a short subway ride away.
That is NYC.