Out Here In The Fields
I was delivered with The Post this morning, arriving on my doorstep just as the familiar, yellow newspaper truck dropped a bundle of tabloids in front of the Andy’s Deli.
The time was 5:48.
I woke up this morning at 3:31, precisely four hours and thirty-two minutes after laying my exhaustion down for the night. It had been quite a day, as my supervisor and mentor of ten years was relieved of his eighteen year tenure.
Yesterday, amidst Internet rumormongering, a friend instant messaged me. “Viacom is ruthless,” he said.
“No,” I replied. “Capitalism is ruthless.”
Once I woke, I couldn’t rest; my head was full. I tapped out a few emails in the half light of ABC News, then dressed, and headed out the door. The air was bitter, the wind cutting. First Avenue was blanketted in slush. I hailed a cab, settled into the back seat, and put on my headphones. Cross town, through Central Park, and past the great blue orb of the Rose Planetarium, though, I never pushed play.
I could find the music.
Up five flights, into the dark warmth of my apartment, I set down my things, and climbed the spiral staircase to my bedroom. I sat before my keyboard, lit solely by the blue glow of the monitor. The wind was howling. Icey rain pelted the windows. The sky was still dark, the low clouds brushed dirty orange from the streetlights. Dawn was on the edge of breaking. Still, the darkness hung cold and heavy. I decide to make a run for it.
Central Park was empty. The Ramble was still, save for the hiss of the snow. I ran through the hills, leaving fresh tracks behind me, until I reached the southern edge of The Lake. I looked across to Bethesda, The Angel of the Water, her foundation wracked with fencing and girders, and turned westward. Across the frozen waters and through a gray veil of driving rain, the great edifices of Twentieth Century Prosperity — The Dakota, San Remo, Majestic, El Dorado and Beresford — stood defiantly against the frigid gale.
I jogged out of the park, back into traffic, and tried not to get hit.
