The Order Of Things: New York City, 8:53 A.M.

  1. I wake up in Brooklyn and drag my feet to the subway, sidling up against a total stranger and grasping a slippery pole for support.
  2. I ascend into Manhattan, crawling out of the 28th street station eager to see sunlight and breathe in the fetid, sewer-scented air.
  3. Hot coffee sloshes against my skin as someone rushes by, unapologetic to my caffeine plight. "Fucker," I mutter, the exclamation carried in the muggy breeze only to be slapped against a high rise.
  4. I pass the men in their food trucks, windows shut as they get ready for the day, the heat of the grills fogging up the glass.
  5. I love the man that sits outside of my office building, pigeons eating from his open palm and cluttering the sidewalk at his feet.
  6. The city never feels sleepy. Never yawns in the face of sunrise.
  7. I love the broad-shouldered resilience of New Yorkers at approximately 8:53 a.m., earbuds blasting their own music, everyone marching to their own beat.