What I See
As I rock along the subway line, and pass with throngs of others up and down the stairs, escalators, and ramps, and pour onto the city streets, I can feel the hum of the urban hive. Its rhythms, its rhymes, its pulse. It's heartbeat. These are the things I see. On an average Monday, with mid-fall overcast skies and leaves beginning to change, billows of steam erupt from the sewers and rooftops. Those from the lower domains carry the odors of the city, those that out of towners notice and I've long learned to ignore. The ones from above, I look at them and wonder if they are the cast off dreams of New Yorkers awakening to find themselves in the cog again. Or, I wonder if they are the cast off dreams of New Yorkers who find themselves awash in regret the morning after, in the middle of, or years into the game. Are they the bellows of exasperated parents bemoan...