PDX –> JFK. Six AM. It’s raining, it’s pouring, the airplane isn’t working. Click Click Boom went the left wing engine and so we are off said plane, back in the
terminal, waiting and waiting for hours.

Later I am running and running through Dallas-Fort Worth, leaping from the jetway onto the 747 headed for LaGuardia, which, as you may know, is decidedly not JFK where my suitcase may or may not show up Monday at the latest. But no bother, I’m on my way. In fact, I’m almost there. My rollerboard will sleep in Texas tonight but I, I will be in New York City and everything will be right again.

The cab driver at the airport will yell at me that 44th Street at 50th Avenue is Sunnyside NOT Woodside and what do I want, Sunnyside or Woodside?! A pigeon
will crap on my head twice. A drunk lady will puke on the subway. A crazy homeless man will scream at us as he rips his pants off in front of the David
Barton Gym at Astor Place. Mouse sized cockroaches will skitter over our shoes as we march down St. Mark’s towards 4th and B. Cat sized rats will dance among the trash lining Broadway when we head back to Queens much later than originally planned.

I will settle in amongst the noise and the chaos. I will sleep a deep and very pleasant sleep.


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