Home. After another week in New York City. Midwest met the big city and keeps coming back. What I know is it is a crowded city. Economically stratified, the layers mix in subways and side walks. Poverty and plenty cross paths in the churned up watery flow of the city moving. So many people, the force of them bursts over the banks of the city's curbs, like a breaking levy every day. There is no stop to the numbers, a sea of colors, fusing and moving every where.
I like the town and the numbers, and I like to hide away in the apartment of my lover when the contact becomes too much. Fairway, the local version of a grocery store, is this mad house of people collecting their food, lines extending through all the aisles. No one working there is willing to tell you where to find anything, even if you've been through the aisles a thousand times, bombarding the crowded corners, to find it. It's more stimulating then a day of drinking coffee. Walking in the Fairway the mind scurries. After I've paid for my groceries, I take the quickest subway to the safe boundaries of walls between me and the thousands.
What I know is the cold can make the New Yorker walk faster. The river veins quicken the pace just to get somewhere warmer. The city becomes a wind tunnel in winter. Cold air moves downtown and spreads through the cross streets, swirling around the shoulders at the cross walk. I have been kamikaze'd by the bullet fast New Yorker more then a few times in that hurried pace. We all seem to be searching for the flushed skin of the steam heat or the safe harbors of warm restaurants and subways - the counterbalance to the frigidity of New York Winters if not the sore body dodging the madden tempo of the Winter New Yorker.
Ah, but now I am sipping tea in my own apartment, curled up into my Midwest neighborhood. We have room to stretch. People trickle down my own alleyway in smaller numbers. The cold is not contained by buildings scraping sky, but rather lingers at every door. It's still cold, colder; still swirling around the shoulders; still causing the body to seek the warm shelter of buses, restaurants and a warm home. Home. The grocery stores, though bigger, still over stimulates the mind with too many people scurrying and I know I will hurry home to seek shelter behind walls after I go.
Two cities, Midwest Town and the Big A, different, same, the orange and the apple. What I miss in New York is the hand holding mine while walking down the streets, those arms curled around me on subways, those eyes staring back at me with love in them. The cackling laughter from words whispered in my ear while in the rooms tucked away from the crowded city. I miss the body flushing against the warmth of my other. New York is fucking fan-tab, even when crowded and cold, but it's not what keeps me coming back.