I Love NY
I love the loneliness and isolation — the lines of blank faces like rushing surf. Beckoned or burdened by some unknown but valued errand, navigating their way through your way and you through theirs. The co-mingled disturbances of wake waves. I love the spent woman, dried and left, too far in to return, and uncertain where her road lies. I love the drawn and the tense, the lonely, the mad, the bad, the bent and broken, the one-legged and wheelchair borne. I love the struggle and the hardship and peppered temptations, the possibilities and the strong straight backs of the ones who know less and want more. I love the diminished responsibility and loss of generosity, the frustration and confusion on faces and in hearts — the ropes of lies and lines of damp waste rotting and waiting for someone who cares to arrive. The missed and the passed, the pressed and wanton, the deep, the sagging, the blended and blessed, these I love.