I feel alternately sad and happy lately. Tuesday stretches on, and it's hard not to think about what's happened. I had fitful sleep and explosive nightmares until Sunday morning. I felt queasy until this morning. And every time I start to feel less sick, I see something new and my stomach bounces into my throat. For example:
On the way from the Ms. offices to the World Trade Center, where I'd often go on my lunch breaks, there was an urban mini-park. It was the kind of park that had trees in planters, but the ground was still paved with bricks. Suited workers lunched while sitting on benches: taking in the day, talking with friends, or maybe holding a paperback in one hand while nibbling a sandwich. Food carts and vendors of one-dollar ties formed a gentle border around this park, and despite the honking cabs and busy pedestrians, it was easy to find a break in this park. Without fail, I'd always be taken aback by a certain statue. It depicted a businessman working on his laptop. "Oy, there's a pigeon on that man's HEAD," I'd think, before remembering that it was just a statue.
I hadn't thought of that statue in over a year, and I hadn't seen it until the NYT Magazine printed this picture yesterday. I clapped my hand over my mouth. This isn't a one-two punch, all of this. Instead, it's the initial shock, trailed by a series of little things, little changes that you wouldn't have thought of until they tap your shoulder from behind, pushing you to the ground like a feather.
And so there's that, but there's also the life that goes on. It has to. I went to Chinatown yesterday and had a fruitless search for cherry turnovers and dinner rolls. We did find little red slippers, though, and a most peculiar drink, Bubble Tea with Ball Ball. With a name like that, how can you not order it? The drink wound up being some sweet milky tea with slimy little balls of some sort in it. My tea comrade suggested that perhaps they were beef bits or fish eggs (gross on both accounts), but I think it was red bean jiggly somethingorother. We had a few sips and then decided that our tea foray was over.
On the way from the Ms. offices to the World Trade Center, where I'd often go on my lunch breaks, there was an urban mini-park. It was the kind of park that had trees in planters, but the ground was still paved with bricks. Suited workers lunched while sitting on benches: taking in the day, talking with friends, or maybe holding a paperback in one hand while nibbling a sandwich. Food carts and vendors of one-dollar ties formed a gentle border around this park, and despite the honking cabs and busy pedestrians, it was easy to find a break in this park. Without fail, I'd always be taken aback by a certain statue. It depicted a businessman working on his laptop. "Oy, there's a pigeon on that man's HEAD," I'd think, before remembering that it was just a statue.
I hadn't thought of that statue in over a year, and I hadn't seen it until the NYT Magazine printed this picture yesterday. I clapped my hand over my mouth. This isn't a one-two punch, all of this. Instead, it's the initial shock, trailed by a series of little things, little changes that you wouldn't have thought of until they tap your shoulder from behind, pushing you to the ground like a feather.
And so there's that, but there's also the life that goes on. It has to. I went to Chinatown yesterday and had a fruitless search for cherry turnovers and dinner rolls. We did find little red slippers, though, and a most peculiar drink, Bubble Tea with Ball Ball. With a name like that, how can you not order it? The drink wound up being some sweet milky tea with slimy little balls of some sort in it. My tea comrade suggested that perhaps they were beef bits or fish eggs (gross on both accounts), but I think it was red bean jiggly somethingorother. We had a few sips and then decided that our tea foray was over.
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