Let’s Go Somewhere Else

My first inclination was to hail a cab.

According to my Apple Dashboard weather widget, it was fourteen degrees when I stepped through the revolving doors of 1515 Broadway into Times Square.

I live just over a mile from my office. It takes me roughly twenty minutes to walk west on 45th, then north on Tenth to 56th Street. Most evenings, it’s a welcome respite. Tonight, though, it was a trek worthy of Sir Edmund Hillary.

February in New York City, you see, is positively hostile.

The wind is bone dry, and tears through layers. The streets are bleached gray, headlights are relentless and blinding. Debris is strewn and matted in place. Sewer grates billow steam. Dog urine freezes in place. Trees are gnarled, shadowy skeletons. The sky is black and starless.

I pop my collar, lock my jaw, lean in to the wind, and walk quickly.

Even my iPod fails to entertain. “Studio 360” annoys me. “On The Media” annoys me. And every time I have to pull off my leather glove to spin the flywheel for something new, it annoys me.

I pass a throng of students — tourists, judging from the handful of boys in sunglasses despite the dark winter night (and judging by the mediocre restauraunt in front of which they’re queued).

I stumble into my building, peel off my hat and gloves, and wait on the elevator. When I finally make it to my door, I add insult to injury by clumsily dropping my keys at my feet.

Inside, there air smells sweet and spicy. Abbi stands at the stove, knit cap still on her head.

“Smells good,” I say.

“Hope you like stir fry,” she replies.

I pour a beer, repair to the couch and read a while. Nothing sticks. None of it matters.

When I step into the kitchen for a refill, though, I nuzzle my wife and make a comment about her caboose. She steps on my toe, and we laugh until we cry.

Suddenly, I am somewhere else: somewhere warm, forgiving, and good; somewhere silly, serious, and stupid in all the right ways.

Suddenly, I am home.