Signs You’re In New York City

It’s midnight, and the airport terminal is as crowded as Grand Central.

The line at the taxi rank is 200 people long, at least. It makes self’s stomach twist in all sorts of nasty ways.

A woman keeps trying to cut ahead of her, for some reason. All self’s fighting instincts come to the fore and she blocks the woman, refusing to give up an inch.

A man wearing a bright yellow vest marked AIRPORT MONITOR keeps yelling at people. Strangely, he does not strike self as angry. In San Francisco, when people yell, they are really really angry.

There were 10 cabs lined up at the taxi rank. Until self got to the front of the line, and then there were NO taxis. NO taxis for another 20 minutes. And the airport monitor kept yelling, to no one in particular: “There are a hundred taxis coming, people. A HUNDRED taxis!”

The green-and-white Medallion cab looks very nondescript, and the leather seats are worn. No GPS, just the driver saying he knows where to go (and he does). Sometimes New York strikes self as being on the verge of breakdown. But it never quite gets there. Which shows you just how tough its people are.

She catches just a glimpse of skyline before the cab enters Manhattan. Next thing you know, it’s stopped in front of a very nondescript sign on a very dark, narrow street that seems to be one big construction zone. Welcome! You’re in New York City now!

People self knows in New York City: one niece and two nephews and of course their parents; Melissa; Penny and Thomas; Luis and Midori; Sam; Marie; Drew; Bruce. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but whenever self is in New York, she is always busy seeing people. She used to know a literary agent who, as far as self knows, probably still has her office in a building on 57th Street.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

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