> New Jersey Transit 19.30 to Morristown, NJ
& New Jersey Transit 15.47 to Morristown, NJ <
Since I started work in New York City, I haven’t been across 110th Street, on the Roosevelt Island Cable Car, or over the Williamsburg Bridge.
Nor have I sat in the bleachers at Shea – to watch the planes roll into JFK, Johan throw the high cheese or Pelfrey a fat, winding curve.
I haven’t swum in the Bronx Community Pool, either. Or fed any monkeys at the zoo. Or soundtracked a late-night stroll with Rhapsody in Blue.
I haven’t thumped my fist down on a yellow taxi roof, shouted “Attica! Attica! Attica!” or cooled off under the spray of a busted hydrant.
I haven’t eaten any dirty water hot dogs or salt-water taffy on the Coney Island boardwalk. I haven’t been Top of the Rock, or down about the beatniks in the Village. Haven’t swatted any flies with a rolled up Times or folded one over my head to keep off the rain.
I haven’t supped any coffee over Kerouac in Queens. Or spilled any, mad about the play-by-play on radio. I’ve not scowled at strangers, nor given rushed directions in integers of ten.
I haven’t dipped my fingers in the Central Park Boating Lake. Or my toes in the Hudson. Or my nose closer to a penicillin soup.
I haven’t surveyed the scope of Little Italy, squeezed out by Chinatown. Or gauged the progress of that giant building site in Downtown (I glanced but didn’t stop).
I haven’t been to Staten Island, Governor’s or Ellis; NoHo, SoHo, Clinton or Chelsea; TriBeCa, Two Bridges, Ocean Hill or Fresh Pond.
I haven’t stood up straight in the National Museum of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender History, or still at the Museum of the Moving Image. I haven’t been to MOMA, either. Or The Met, The Whitney, or The Guggenheim… I’m yet to know which at Ripley’s Believe It or Not! and still can’t say for sure if the city ever sleeps.
No. I’ve mostly just been at work – or else sitting on a train.