Rachel Young

monday, november 4, 2002

An entry from April 16, 2002 . . .

New York. There really is no other city quite like it.

With the weather finally warming up here, I walked 16 blocks to work (my only form of daily exercise). It's amazing how much you can observe along the same path you take day in, day out and always be guaranteed something will be different.

I saw a man (a bit on the hefty side) running shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his body. I was jealous because his breasts were bigger than mine. Later down the block, I saw an elderly man sitting on a red crate at the corner of the street with his finger digging into his left nostril. Some people really just have no shame or reservations about anything here.

I saw young mothers holding their children's hands as they walked to school together. Among the crowd was a thin Caucasian male holding the hand of a little black boy with dreadlocks adorning his head. The boy walked with his head down, his eyes toward the ground. But he briefly glanced up at me as I passed him. He was a beautiful kid. He reminded me of Vernon, a shy, adorable boy I worked with back in Southeast D.C.

It seemed I was soaking everything up this morning. I looked at the billboards, the neon signs, even the lettering on the delivery trucks parked in front of the stores. There was one sign with the name of their restaurant posted in Copperplate Gothic font. It reminded me of the company I worked for in D.C. The VP was insistent on using that font in all company letterhead and brochures. He was an architect. He was anal. He made my life a living hell.

Closer to the office, I stopped at one of the many convenient stores along the route, taking a look at the wide variety of flowers and plants located outside the store. Daffodils, lilies, and tulips galore. My fondness for flowers reminds me I’m more girly than I like to admit.

I’m in the office now getting ready to start another day. Here behind my desk is where the doldrums of life in the Big Apple begin. At least I’ve learned how to keep myself entertained.

My brother calls me Hippy Chick. Yup. I look and feel like one today.

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