the bronx is up and the battery's down
All my native new york friends say you kind of have to hate it in order to love it, and I certainly don't know about that yet, but I do know that hate and love seem to go hand in hand when thinking about this city. I am cranky and stressed, and there are many things that drive me nuts about this city. the lack of crosstown subways, for one. the pedestrians who are worse than cars. (I hit one on my bike the other day... he double-parked and was walking backwards into the street. what??) the fact that I only have one pair of shoes I can wear without killing my feet by the end of the day. the upper east side.
but at the same time, I really do have a soft spot in my heart for this place and its moments, its characters. I was walking to my bus stop tonight, and this guy comes up next to me and says hey, like he knows me. So I turn and stop and say hey, assuming it was someone I knew. It's this vague hippie-looking guy who I don't recognize at all, and we stand there in silence for a second until I say, "Do I know you?" And he says, "Uh... no, I guess not. You look like someone I know. You know, your facial expressions, your body language. So, um, you live around here?" "Nah, I live in Harlem." "Oh, how is that?" "I like it. But you know, I go to Union, so I'm over here a lot." "Yeah. I live up the street. Where are you going?" "I'm going to catch a bus, and go home and study for finals." "Oh, sorry." *pause, I start to turn* "You're really lovely, though."
I'm on the bus, a few stops from mine, and this young black family gets on, mom and dad and two small kids. The girl is about 3, and won't sit still. Her dad is sitting next to her and starts to sing to her, very soft and gently like a lullaby, except he's singing "It's Goin' Down". And he can't remember all the words, so he starts making up stuff about machine guns. She points out the window and yells "Butterfly! Look, Daddy, butterfly!" And he keeps singing.
but at the same time, I really do have a soft spot in my heart for this place and its moments, its characters. I was walking to my bus stop tonight, and this guy comes up next to me and says hey, like he knows me. So I turn and stop and say hey, assuming it was someone I knew. It's this vague hippie-looking guy who I don't recognize at all, and we stand there in silence for a second until I say, "Do I know you?" And he says, "Uh... no, I guess not. You look like someone I know. You know, your facial expressions, your body language. So, um, you live around here?" "Nah, I live in Harlem." "Oh, how is that?" "I like it. But you know, I go to Union, so I'm over here a lot." "Yeah. I live up the street. Where are you going?" "I'm going to catch a bus, and go home and study for finals." "Oh, sorry." *pause, I start to turn* "You're really lovely, though."
I'm on the bus, a few stops from mine, and this young black family gets on, mom and dad and two small kids. The girl is about 3, and won't sit still. Her dad is sitting next to her and starts to sing to her, very soft and gently like a lullaby, except he's singing "It's Goin' Down". And he can't remember all the words, so he starts making up stuff about machine guns. She points out the window and yells "Butterfly! Look, Daddy, butterfly!" And he keeps singing.