Floods of unfamiliar faces searching for what life has hidden away from them. Streets full of wondering eyes and yellow taxes. It seems there is no order in life here.
I am in New York City for the first time. What does the big apple have in store for me? I walk pass St. Nicolas Avenue down to Lexington – trying to make my way up to Broadway and Washington Heights to my hostel in Manhattan.
I pass the street Vendors – selling mangos, pineapples and watermelons. It is hot in NYC in May and water is $3. The music Vendors lay cool under the shades bopping their heads to mellow jazz. They draw in their cigars and slowly blow out their smoke. The circles of smoke slowly rise up and quickly disintegrates as the M60 bus passes.
The wind carries me to the homeless guy who has no care in the world – only where to find the next meal. His friend lies down in a grocery store cart but sadly there is no food in it – no blanket for the night, no family to go home to, no place to call home, but the streets have befriended them.
No Sir I cannot give you my pocket change. I am stuck in my stereotypes from television that tell me that people get mugged or shot in New York – even when trying to do a kind act. Maybe tomorrow I will when I kill that stereotype with my own experience.
The Jamaican Lady with the accent gave me directions to 173 West street and I make it to 560 West. I paid $35 a night for 4 nights. Welcome to New York City.
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