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Subway
Thursday, 9 pm -- last car on the D train from Rockefeller to Union St.
I wrote a review awhile ago of the new N trains where I expressed my generally pleasing experience on these shiny new trains. I'm glad I savored that experience, because I haven't had many opportunities to ride it since. After a long day at the office followed by an exhausting post-work session at the gym, the D train is the primary chariot on tracks that delivers me home.
Leaving the gym and walking outside where the brisk Soho night air immediately cools me, I cross the street against the oncoming traffic towards the subway station, while holding my palm out at the taxis and cars that boldly inch closer to my biological body than I preferred. That action is silly, because it's an inherently flawed act of self preservation. A gym might provide the milieu and means by which one creates a stronger body, but that body is no match against the physics of the force a metal moving object exerts against a fleshy object that stands in its way. (Insert Krytonite footnote.) And yet, my palm acts as an urban amulet that compels even the most sadist cab driver to slow to a halt. Or so I hope. A friend of mine, born and raised in New York City, is an expert in this and has perfected it to practically an art form, or what I call, "Extreme Walking."
Extreme Walking is walking from point A to point B by the shortest route possible while ignoring street signs, moving vehicles, and construction.
Try it.
Just make sure you have health insurance first.
Going over the bridge, I like to look out at the Manhattan skyline and I'm of the opinion that the monolithic Verizon building is quite a hideous structure. Its overcompensating red corporate logo emblazoned across the top screams its presence all across downtown Manhattan and insecurely asks, "CAN YOU HEAR SEE ME NOW?"
Unfortunately, yes. Yes we can see you now.