My first day back in Manhattan (or post-Priest Lake depression).

My alarm clock went off at the rather disturbing hour of 6am (3am PDT). I had breakfast on the run. The streets were filled with cigarette smoke. The subway screeching was seemingly louder. I read The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times. The skies were grey, as they seem to have been all summer (with the threat of thunderstorms, per usual). It was humid. Harlem had the unmistakable yet familiar smell of warm garbage. I wore my standard black & white business casual. My inbox was flooded. Work was a blur. I ran to catch my train on the way home. I was squished between two large men. The African women who braid hair on 125th Street were there when I got off the train, just like they are every day in their elaborate dresses & head coverings, as was the subway station preacher who screams so loudly that his veins bulge from his forehead & sweat drips down his face. He hasn't lost any of his enthusiasm. The Scientologists were there too, giving their stress tests & selling their books with L. Ron Hubbard on the cover. I took one of their tests once. It was a waste of time. And my drummer friend. He was playing one of my favorites down on the platform, & when he saw me he said, "Glad to see you" with a big grin on his face, like he really was glad that I was back from my unexplained week-long absence. I wanted to give him a dollar, but the train came. There were people yelling on the street for no apparent reason on the Upper East Side. I hopped into a store to quickly look at shoes, on a quest for the perfect pump (no success). I bought dinner (tacos) from a truck on Lexington, struggling to order in my best Spanish accent. Picked up cupcakes from my favorite bakery.

.

I did not eat any huckleberries. I never went barefoot. I did not smell anything resembling fresh air. I did not get nearly enough sleep.