Teju

I’ve gotten into the habit of taking walks in the late afternoon, after I’ve finished with the mundanity of sitting at home doing the same repetitive work. I walked up towards Monceau Park, following my intuitive sense of direction. There, there are runners with their neon shorts and matching neon shoes, imitating the American tendency to make a neon sign for everything.

I thought back to the New York skyline, where energy is radiating from everything. There is a bagel shop on 9th and University, called Bagel Bob’s, where I would get dinner on occasionally, after my allergist appointment. I would sit and eat watching the rain, and the people passing by with their temporary umbrellas. Sometimes when it rained I would take my longest walks — often to Central Park — with the intention of getting wet.

In November, when the weather just started to turn, I would walk up 1st until it disappeared into wasteland, then make a left onto 27th or so, and walk to 3rd, and then right, all the way up to Central Park. I walked past trash cans, overflowing with Subway and Starbucks cups. On trash day, there would be black bags piled high like the Pyramids, excessive waste entombing the concrete below. Often I wonder if trash is a product of New York, or New York a product of trash.

The sound of children’s laughter caught my attention, and there, at the entrance of the park, was a swarm of pre-teen aged children, fettered to their school. One girl walked through the park entrance to be greeted by some friends sitting on a bench to her left. She waved hello, then moved forward towards another group of girls who were smoking. I watched her navigate the sea of pre-teens to her friends, then I watched her sit down with them.

I walked further to the Jaurès stop, where I took the Metro to the Bastille to get some produce for the week. At the market, there were men shouting the prices of their fruits, luring customers in with their low prices and their plentiful fruit displays.

to be continued