Last night, between 6:20 and 7:00 I needed to kill some time. I was westward ho on 23rd imagining that I would land in Home Depot (Lord knows why) when I came upon the entrance to the NR. Without a thought, I scurried underground and hopped on an Uptown and Queens-bound train. I felt naughty. And how! Riding along with no business or obligation. no destination. the wrong train. the incorrect train. I was a fraud passenger, a secret interloper. I was there simply to observe the sound, the sensation, the faces of the Queens-bound (being so accustomed to the Brooklyn-bound . . . ), and listen to Rosanne Cash.
In the warm months, when I need to waste an hour or adjust my back or recover from my various complaints, I find a spot of green and sun in a park to recline on. Winter is tough for me. But now I know of something invigorating (if not quite as blissful or physically curative) to do out of time and weather. Imagine that.
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