A picnic in front of the Manhattan skyline. Ice cream sandwiches, sunning myself on the grass like a turtle. 10 miles over the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges. Soft kisses in a dark corner of a little bar. Lost in a library for hours touching the books. The comfort of Spanish all around me, at the Mexican Independence Day parade. The West Village, The East Village, Greenwhich Village, I don’t know where I am, but it doesn’t matter. Train rides, making faces at a stranger’s baby and watching him giggle. Wandering through gallery upon gallery of famous paintings, famous sculptures, at the Met. Absorbing the most beautiful violin music, straight into my veins, like a drug.
Sometimes I think there is no greater pleasure in life than a glass of champagne, a book I can’t put down and solitude amongst people.
Hiding here is so nice. Maybe it’s odd, but there’s no place I’d rather be alone than amongst these 8 million humans in this mad city. Let me be lost! I know right where I am.
[All photos of the Eastern Parkway West Indies Carnival in Crown Heights]