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a perfect NY morning

I coached this morning until 8:15am and then decided to walk across town instead of taking the bus from 10th avenue to 5th avenue. My reasoning was A- to aquire spare deoderant, toothpaste and toothbrush for work, and B-to enjoy one of the few amazing fall days we're going to have until it starts getting all cold and rainy. I was walking along 57th St., watching the buildings change from Hells Kitchen apartments to nail and laundry shops to the ritzy jewelers and haute couture boutiques around my office. I stopped for a moment at 8th ave to take in the sparkley globe fountain in Columbus Circle. The smells were really distracting from my reverie. More than usual. Lots of exhaust today. I know it's there every day, but it was extra potent for some reason. I realized that I hold my breath a lot while walking around. I thought about all the cancers we probably get from living in the city. I imagined charts with red and blue line graphs depicting the incidence of cancer related to the number of years you live here breathing in this shitty air. And then there was the garbage smell. This is inevitable: the reek of garbage water. A street sweeper rolled by, spraying the gutter juice onto he sidewalk and everyone jumped back toward the buildings. Smelly stuff. I was glad it missed me.

I stopped into Duane Reade and found what I needed. I went for the cheaper Dove fresh scent and the more expensive Sensodyne toothpaste. My teeth have been bothering me lately. Waiting in line at the drug store can be an eternity. Especially when there's 3 people ahead of you and the cashier is off finding change for her register. Everyone shuffles and sighs because the minutes before 9am are few and ticking away. New candies and gums dot the assortment of the usual impulse buys shelf. The guy in the front was waiting on Menthols. The guy behind him was purchasing and Arizona brand Grapeade. He asked the cashier if it was good, and she said yes. As if canned grapeade could possibly be good! As if the cashier was going to point that out. And the guy ahead of me had a vacuum pack of Cafe Bustelo. I wondered if it was for him or his office. And then I escaped, with a swipe from the handy debit card. Without learning anything about patience.

Back outside for one more block. Past the windows with several thousand dollar dresses, around the Louis Vuitton windows, into the building. Flash the ID, up the elevator. Doors open, turn left. There's the office sign. I wont be leaving until 6, at least. Isabel steps out of another elevator. Hola! What? (not in misunderstanding, but in not paying attention buying time until the brain figures out what was just said) That's spanish for hello. Yes, yes, I jest. No, she retorts, thats Ci Ci.