My Town, My City

Headphones in, I sit on the N bound for Queens, nodding my head with the sounds of Danger Mouse, looking around noticing every last detail on each advertisement for the local news broadcast, trying not to make eye contact with anyone on the train but when I do I just continue to nod me head and smile. The train rumbles along first underground then high above stopping eleven times before I finally reach checkpoint number two along my trek; standing, I adjust the straps on my backpack and exit the almost empty car. As I stroll down Astoria Boulevard, the streets smell the distinct scent of wet trash mixed with urine on a hot summers night, every now and then the faintest scent of food finds its way into my nostrils, a familiar feeling strikes me, the same scent I would get walking late night down the streets back home, I smile at this simple but strange pleasure as I inch closer to my final destination on this long arduous night.

Once again I find myself becoming familiar with this city of New York, one vastly different but still very homelike for me. I walk with a certainty to my step, moving quickly, owning the sidewalk. As the music changes so do my steps, a hop here a little bounce there, little hand motions (not enough that people really notice). I have been here only a handful of times in my life and I am all ready to claim it as my city. Years before I had laid claim to Boston as my city, but now before this vastness before me, these miles of untraversed sidewalk, it seems merely like my town, sure it's great and I am and will always be proud to call myself a Bostonian, but it is time to turn the page on the book known as Brian and New York seems to be the favorite for the next big adventure. Sure it helps to have a beautiful girl there already to nudge me in that direction, but I like to think that this decision was my own. It is a city that offers everything, most of all a chance to find out if I truly have what it takes to make it as a writer in this world, and no matter where I go, I am never seeing the same thing twice, everyone different, every shop even more extravagant than the last, a street block dedicated solely to four consecutive shops all selling beads. The city has something for everyone, and to a city person like me the grid system is a welcome sight compared to the street memorization of Boston.

I cross my third block and begin the silent countdown in my head of street numbers until I can finally lie down. On my right I pass a secondhand shop selling among other things, a book case collection of used VHS tapes, a leather restaurant booth, couches, chairs, and tables stacked upon each other in front of the store. After that a trailer which has taken up permanent residence selling falafel, sits with its lights on indicating to all that yes they are open for business, which is apparently what the boy inside was doing to the server girl, as he seemed determined to suck her brains through her mouth, and she was loving every minute of it. Ah yes the little things one notices make the world go round, in an age where everyone is in a rush to get somewhere it is nice to slow things down and notice the little things around you, life moves fast best to slow it down enough to enjoy it once in a while. Finally seeing a shop that accepts credit or debit cards I hop inside and order a pack of smokes, for thirteen bucks I could have gotten myself a halfway decent dinner, but instead I chose to shorten my life five minutes at a time with my box of me time. Lighting one up and taking a puff, I am careful not to blow the smoke at passersby instead opting for the nasal release, all the while imaging myself as a mighty dragon exhaling the fumes from the fire burning inside of me. I smile to myself and continue on my merry way, only five more streets to go, I can already feel her arms around me as she wraps her legs around my knees and plays koala. Finally crossing my last street before entering her building, I flick my cigarette to the ground and watch as it lays burning, until I step on it making sure to drag my foot backwards, stamping out all of its remaining life. Stepping onto the elevator I push the seventh floor, hook my thumbs in my arm straps and arrive at my destination.