Walking Cross-Town. With Al.

walking-aerial

Jorie Graham: “The slow overture of rain, each drop breaking without breaking into the next, describes the unrelenting, syncopated mind.” (from “Mind,” Hybrids of Plants and of Ghosts.)

6:30 am.
The train pulls into Grand Central, and clears. I sit. And wait.
The conductor walks up the aisle gathering tickets.
I cue up a Paul Simon playlist and walk.
The platform is empty. Stragglers amble toward the exits.
I nod to the armed guard, and slip through the open door onto 42nd, passing a conga line of yellow cabs. Not today gentlemen, not today. We’re walking Cross-Town.

Good morning America.
Dawn in Manhattan.
Sun Power lights up the skyscrapers, they lean in from the shadows to warm.
A wisp of a breeze cools, a welcome cut of the ever-present humidity, and a respite from the simmering trash and the marinating urine.

The electronic horse walks.
There’s a skip in the step this morning, loaded with a full night’s sleep, and boosted by Sun’s Solar Power.  Beast and Beast. One up Top. One on the ground. Duo is Un-freak-ing-stoppable. [Read more…]

Walking. Into the Wildebeest.

wildebeest

What was it, 20 seconds? A week ago?

I step over the gap and exit the train car.

Whoa. 

Hundreds of Suits are charging for the exits and I’m leaning into the rushing current. The great Serengeti wildebeest migration in the tunnels of Grand Central.

Hooves pounding.

I slow my pace and meekly hug the edge of the platform.

Hold on.

Hold it right there. [Read more…]

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