Today was one of those days - those days when, for just a fleeting second, the dreamy half-life appears and exposes what life could be. As with all Day Dreams (as opposed to daydreams), streets were empty, quiet. The air a bit glazed over with gray. My footsteps echoed through the cobblestone path.
Graffiti held its own wonders - begging me to scan its grainy canvas, charming me with its clever artistry and irony. Demolition men raked scattered bits of scattering mirrored glass, at times they paused to scoop up shards within their amorphous, gloved hands. Voices carried a romantic, lilting accent. Fashion girls tiptoed down pathways, cigarettes crisping in their fingertips. Three identical weimaraners stared at their walker.
And I thought: this world could be mine.
I shuffled along, feeling a bit like a spectator in this alien place (and to think: I once lived seconds from where I stood), seeing the streets with untainted, unjaded eyes. Suddenly I was wary of looking the outsider's part, of seeming too obvious behind my thick spectacle eyes.
Upon entering the doctor's office (that was the goal, you know), I studied opposite office windows, memorized their breezy open spaces. The curling bamboo, twisting within their clear glass cases. Hip, urban folk passed by, seemingly unaffected by the ever-popularly phrased economic climate.
And, for just that hour, I was impressionable and new to New York again. I wished for a polaroid camera with which to snapshot all that charmed and mystified me. But instead I reached for my buzzing blackberry and knew that my fantasy spin was complete. The garbage smelled; the dogwalker dangled a blue plastic bag from her hand; a taxi whizzed by, spraying me with street spit. The R-train beckoned.
But - just before descending - I chanced upon my favorite splash of graffiti. And the dream persisted.
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