6/5/2014

1. Rain is halfheartedly falling but the depth of puddles prove that this indifference is recent.  I am not running late but I am not early.  I am not careful.  I soak my right shoe in standing water just before I duck down toward the 2 train.
2. The rain is coming down and so is Times Square.  Tourists with golf umbrellas avoid the rain but not another, and it is slow going as I weave my way up Broadway.  The sky is unforgiving or even sinister, and I am desperate to snake through scaffolding to find the Marriott of my dreams. I end up ten minutes late, on an escalator behind the person whose speech I have rushed to see.
3. I exit the Marriott alone and happy, pleased to have endured a mob of 1,500 well-dressed conference goers for as long as I did.  The rain has stopped but the sky has not forgotten.  The tourists are sheepish, holding gouged umbrellas.  The man in the Yankees Store is on his phone.  “Dealerships” plays in my ears as I take a rare seat on the 2.
4. I take a walk around the block to rescue my eyes from the fluorescence.  The sun is shining but the coolness of the rain has lingered.  It is humid in a sweet sort of way.  My eyes forgive me and I am cleared to return.
5. I leave for good and head north toward a fruit stand, red grapes the target.  The pound and a half in a crinkly gray plastic, I walk toward the 2 but think better of it.  The sun has settled down.  The cool humidity remains.  These nights are what walks are for.  I pass a puppy who is trying too hard and I take its example, turn around, cut toward the park.  I unsuccessfully meander, take the road more traveled, end up on the normal route home.