Monday

I'd underdressed again but it was too late in spring to bother. Brightness at 8:46 made me sneeze. On the sidewalk I saw the shadow of my agitated hair. A bird's shadow flew over it. Sparrows cut perfect L's as if for love of synchronicity.

Where I crossed the West Side Highway a (boy) jogger's chest jiggled. A crane hoisted flimsy beams. Tribeca had another new red building. New Jersey could have been a barge. I wondered about the Andean wool wraps rich women wear. The boxers I was wearing bunched uncomfortably. I remembered Kristin noticing last night just as we both lost consciousness.

North Cove's cherries still hadn't bloomed. They only looked stunning seen against sky. Then it felt like there was a cello inside me. I thought about how seagulls coast when they can. I contemplated how a security-guard's crooked baton dangled. I pictured the workshop in which she learned to use this weapon. The sun blew streaked with building exhaust.

Grackles picked at cinnamon buns laid in a ring. Geometric shadows held their shape against the Hudson. Discharge from a passing tanker suggested some basic engineering principle. Pipes spouted when the river surged. Someone entered the harbor on a rubbery boat: standing up. I watched piers rock until I could sense my organs.

Of four young Europeans bent over a bridge it was hard to tell which one walked with a cane. I slowed and considered fenced-off violets. I resisted stepping in time to an hydraulic drill's pulse. Bloodhounds crouched to avoid conversation. Somebody stretched taut on a bench twitched when his boot strayed over the side. Someone's hi-tech sleeping bag had headphones clamping down the facemask. A tugboat led an enormous freighter. The ship's only Chinese feature was its flag.

West Africans slunk as if they weren't selling watches. The Sabrett salesmen read something like a scroll. The graphic layout of a policeman's magazine confirmed its subject (entertainment). By nine blonde families had bought hot pretzels. I wanted to hear harsh Scandinavian sounds but they came from the Midwest. When the river's swell receded it sucked my foot against an iron grate. As this feeling withdrew I missed it. A potato bug crawled out onto concrete. I hadn't seen one in years.

Watching the Staten Island Ferry push off, listening to ropes on nearby ships sigh, I sensed I'm going to move soon—maybe across the water. On my return through Battery Park a man yanked his son's elbow, said Nobody likes a smart-aleck. I can't describe the river's color then. It was neither orange nor bronze. Someone else woke wearing normal clothes, as if where he's from in Eastern Europe sleeping along a river isn't out of custom.

I'd always assumed most Battery Park groundskeepers are lesbians—just because they seem so self-contained—but a short brunette stared beside the wall of pink flowers. Her partner wouldn't stop asking questions. As a rollerblader skirted a family she made the father flail and panic. As I overtook them he stood explaining himself. When a mom stretched both arms to the right her shirt showed sloppy flesh that appealed to me in passing. One man jogged so quietly it was irritating. Afterwards I undid my awkward smile.

Swerving through Kowski Plaza a worker blasted big hexagons clean. Puddles frothed where his hose attached to the hydrant. I got interested in where a zipper slashed across one woman's hip. I couldn't decide if the Embassy Suites atrium evoked power or absence. In my ears wind was a mood and personality. Kristin's apartment reeked of perfume.

Tuesday

In the stairwell someone wore my exact same shoes. A white guy muttered hurrying past. Again I had a hat on. With my hands stuffed in vest pockets my wrists felt mangled. Kid sunglasses on the sidewalk glared. Somebody dropped a six-pack of Coronas. I guess I expected the glass to be colored. Beside me a big woman shouted Which bus is that? In Malcolm X Plaza a boy broke from his mom, walked the concrete flowerbed with arms out for balance. The blank wall caught a pine's morning shadow—8:29.

Near St. Nick's boys yelled What's up with all the grays? They said Hey girl. An attractive young woman approached them smiling. Someone descending a ladder frowned in various directions. Self-knowledge emanating from a Nigerian teen in two-toned denim convinced me she was a genius.

A guy leaned against a payphone, using the ledge as counter for doughnut and coffee. He casually addressed a few passing nuns. This came off rude. Still I understood the desire to seem legitimate.

Spotting front-door Stop Bush signs I envisioned a family. It was somehow exciting to be on Old Broadway. At one corner a crossing guard explained So the letter says this child's already in my house. From one sedan's rearview mirror at least 8 deodorizing trees dangled. The next held one. A sign spinning from the third read I [heart] Jesus. A grandma's smoldering tights made me think of cardinals. As two women posted flyers I scanned one several back (the least interesting subject—daycare services).

Across 125^th a plastic dispenser promoted some college nobody's ever heard of. The slight new possibility I'll have a decent job next year left me fantasizing in terms of real estate. I wanted palatial uptown shabbiness, not the downtown norm. Along a deli a woman making crotch gestures screamed Too bad you're not on top of me now! Passing a cobbler/key maker's she cried Jamon!

Sidewalk dimmed. Someone exiting what I thought said Methadone Clinic coughed on me. I had to weave through cars where a police station crumbled. Under elevated train tracks a different morning could be felt: urban but not glamorous, and not sordid or schizophrenically commercial either—vaguely religious like floating dust. An Acela train shot past soothing me more than silence would. A sedan backed into garbage bags. A lackadaisical tire store looked neither closed nor open.

Still planning to walk the Hudson I turned south a block early. I guess traffic became an unconscious downer. A pamphlet asked Where was God? across a picture of the World Trade Center exploding. The boldest pages had been printed in Patois.

A French woman winced as I curled up Claremont. A set of buildings I might be able to afford stood fronted by tubes like lifeguard towers. Beyond the lobby someone dug dirt out to his neck. Co-workers tipped a wheelbarrow. They seemed Chilean maybe, very upbeat. When I turned with a double-decker bus the tour guide said something about twenty thousand restaurants. There weren't that many people on board. A gothic address on Union Seminary restored nuance to the day (606 I think).

An old woman locked a church annex labeled Members Only. Another place was called the (something) Lamb Society. Someone explained to his companion: It's like you just made a bed, you know, and now somebody's going to lie in it.

As I crossed 112^th a boy stood on tiptoe to make his friends laugh; I actually imagined having to kick him in the balls. Under dank blue scaffolds a church's steps looked extra holy. On my own block I held the door for someone exiting the deli. He paused, surprised. Behind me someone impatient exhaled. I had to convince the clerk I knew I'd grabbed plantains (not bananas).

Wednesday

By 8:55 warmth and smells had returned. Double-parked cars made the day feel lived in. An embossed bronze outfit caught my attention. My timing crossing through traffic felt off. I hadn't gone to the bathroom yet though needing to kept me up all night.

Joggers pulled the morning in different directions. A hawk seemed to sway with salsa from a boombox. An Hispanic girl walking a ferret grinned like I'd just said something funny. Grass had been aerated. Cylindrical dirt lay next to holes.

The Conservatory Gardens stood closed temporarily. I couldn't tell if temporary meant 10 minutes or a month. Workers beyond the gate sounded relaxed and willfully insular. Hey Shirley one called, I think I found your glasses.

I took a trail to someplace high marked by the Andrew Haswell Green bench. A carved stone praised this first park director and father of New York. These five trees, the engraving read, have been planted in memoriam. I looked around wondering which five they were. I tried not to interrupt one Mexican boy squatting: staring down from his own stillness into the park's. I turned towards a woman riding her bike far below and more listened to the gears than looked.

Across North Meadow signs said BASEBALL FIELDS CLOSED FOR WEATHER OR SERVICE. A gap appeared in one of the fences. Robins glistened and sang all around me. For some reason I was walking painfully slowly, like in dreams where my contacts get way too strong. The far fence rolled back quietly like curtains. I passed handball courts and an ugly trailer.

A sign warned that horse-riders had the right of way. A clump of burrs reminded me of grade-school. I stopped under blooming cherry branches. Gazing at petals with a humming inside me I heard girls shout the Pink Panther theme song. I felt paint peeling where my fingers clutched a pole. I tracked couples flickering through trees. When a gull glanced up I said What is there to hope for now?

We stared into the reservoir. The algae beckoned without trying to. One jogger told a friend If he buys both floors your kids should take the top. Another jogger's butt looked tragically bony.

Tennis staff affixed boxes with a puffy machine. A blonde and a Rastafarian exchanged such fierce ground strokes I could momentarily respect the rich. Jets arched behind them (watering clay courts). The Rec-Center bathroom finally stood propped open. I remembered positive experiences pausing in there.

A gym teacher had set up cones his class was supposed to sprint around. A student 1.6 times taller than the rest looked like some sort of intern. I admitted aloud I'd lost my touch for ignoring problems until each morning walk was complete. But then stepping down a root-laden path I briefly felt like an adroit goat.

Descending a staircase to The Meer I pictured white horses and then one crossed. Students wearing plaid streamed into the Gardens. A chaperone spun around commanding Don't touch anything. Don't do anything.

I split off towards the Wisteria Pergola. Signs warned 24-Hour Pesticide Spray—parents hold onto children. Two wealthy woman broke branches from a bush. Heart's Delight tulips had fully blossomed. Rose plantings lined the paths, gave an answer to one of my big questions since March: Do flowerbeds hold different bulbs simultaneously, or do new species get imported late at night? The plastic pots even had barcodes.

Tears started sliding down my neck. A guard stepping from Lincoln Correctional glared. In the lobby Luis and I mumbled greetings canceled by a closing door.

Thursday

Packing up I realized I'd lost my hat, probably yesterday at school. Sparrows fighting over a bagel hunk abruptly abandoned it at 8:54. A van had Libra airbrushed with scales beneath. I wondered if I'd always come out on construction scaffolds. I bent and flipped an index card. It was a Things To Get list—cleaning supplies. But across the front someone's sneaker left gorgeous treads.

Where I turned up Lenox, sidewalk claimed The Sisters Of Sarah Are Coming. Sport coats from garbage bags lay scattered along the curb. A crossing guard's posse sprawled out on nearby steps. I've often wondered what crossing guards get paid. Mary Poppins hung in my head again: "Consistent is the Life I Lead." A boy turned and stared while continuing forward clutching his father's jacket.

So many pigeons veered left it felt hard to not follow. A church for sale would make a good co-op. A developer laughed in what had been its front hall. A sexy woman smiled like I'd flattered her. I wondered if I was near the Bill Clinton Library. I pictured an undemanding job, with Bill Clinton liking me.

At 125^th one man sold Newports out of a totally conspicuous white plastic bag. I searched for the Income-Tax Assistance Center. A Haitian pointed at a stranger's cellphone. A woman guessed He can only mouth words. An optometrist advertised $99 contacts. I made an extra effort to remember this.

When I spotted the tax center the line stood out the door. People spinning towards me frowned. I continued up Fifth past a stray pink sock and tie-dyes tumbling from a dresser. Window-washers assembling platforms in front of housing projects blanched. Pigeons sorted through a spread of damp Ruffles. Someone punched the D's dot in a doctor's sign. Someone my age passed on an insect-like tricycle. A Puerto Rican flag poked from the seat. The rider tongued a whistle between his lips.

Plaques said Riverbend Candy Store but the closest shop was a deli. On the way past American Storage I wondered where I'll put all my stuff this summer. I turned west on 142^nd then south on a street called Chisum Place (beside big tow trucks with sirens flashing). Chisum ended and I cut through Delano Village Housing Complex—to the sound of a breezy lawn.

Flags atop City College's cliff flew at half-mast maybe. I couldn't picture a normal flag. Cherries pinked in Fred Samuels Park. Signs hung from trees along an ambiguous house of worship: Prosperity, Salvation, then a blank one, then Bob Marley. Someone told his friend I play the same number every day. That's the choice which saved my ass. A teacher flinched as though from electric shock. A tossed-out mattress depicted hot-air balloons launched from wooden towers. I pushed through a marijuana cloud. Rice spread across sidewalk still held patterns fingers had traced. I wondered if barbers up here could cut white people's hair. I passed the first gay pride flag I'd seen so far north, also a laundromat's free dryers special.

No outdoor line at the tax center now. People emptied pockets and strode through a sensor. I asked a man if I should remove my belt. Everything he said. Then after this was done: Wait, leave the belt. I'd forgotten the pants I wear when walking Uptown have a mostly dysfunctional zipper. It sank as I stepped through the security gate. As I slid the belt through its loops a handsome guard grabbed my bin of metal objects. The next person had arrived. The guard said Keep moving.

Friday

With Kristin's roommate packing up I had to rearrange my schedule. Poaching salmon I listened for thunder. As I stepped out at 11:00 my neck felt strained. When a banker with enormous arm-span gestured from his Gee Whiz Diner booth I flinched, forgetting about the glass between us. Someone with bird-like features stared at me. She twitched her head diagonally. I could easily find her in the largest crowds.

Along Tribeca Wines apartment furnishings stood wrapped with chic brown paper. A Pakistani woman said something elegant in her phone. A black man mumbled Go fuck yourself. A secretary pointed at the psychedelic burrito hut. This place used to be a blast she said; I mean years ago. I held the door for an overdressed mom on her way into a shop that sold cardboard boxes. I wanted to walk in sun even if it meant extra stop lights. With my gloves still lost I forced my hands in my jeans, further harming my wrists. The Sabrett-cart boss called out Good luck you guys. It's blustery.

Near Canal I wondered if calligraphy samples (Ashley, Lauren, Kenneth, Jack) suggest the most popular Chinese immigrant names. A pigeon hovered as if reading. An Asian woman in heels and with zits looked very much alive, part of something greater. Someone opened cellar doors and screamed Hey Nicky!

A tan homeless person surrounded by bags sat on a well-designed staircase chewing something healthy. Men in facemasks hoisted giant bundles: I'd never seen a larger or more chaotic warehouse. I would have sat but the Gourmet Garage bench had just been hosed down. I felt frustrated by a woman's parted hair.

Where I turned up Lafayette lay boxes marked Tuxedo. A Korean man warded off his father's anger. A cab driver didn't want them riding in front. A waitress on her knees wrote out daily specials.

In preparation for clothes shopping (a rarity) I watched how penises bulge based on the cut of pants. As subtle as I thought I was about this some men gave off pretty aggressive signals. Near 12^th I passed a church compound filled with magnolia blossoms, thinking Shouldn't I know the names of such places? Someone washed a brass door with the numerals 2-6-5 reflected on his chest. An expensive beauty emulsion center doubled as sandwich caf´. A woman squatted against movie theater glass with her kitten.

In Union Square two lines of boys beaned each other with tennis balls. A park worker's purple bangs stunned me (sexually). She kept adjusting a sprinkler. A girl in headphones almost got hit as she crossed 18^th. From the park someone homeless yelled You fucking blind basketcase! Pigeons climbed from the benches' shadows. Among them I found my legitimate mood. Market lilies bore colors I couldn't have predicted.

Further up Park Ave., approaching Midtown, I wanted to pee without stopping in any of the stores. Having just this sensation on just these blocks recalled a whole previous year of my life. Skinny girls still smoked and complained outside the American Academy of Drama. They stood oblivious of caterers wheeling carts around puddles. An intense Jewish man stared at me—mused on something far away. A plastic dispenser announced Meet America's Poet Laureate! I didn't recognize the person. Polka dots turned on a truck pouring concrete.

Polish girls in lab coats made me cut west. They entered a gourmet deli which for once deserved the title. Through a window I checked out salad stations. The short Guatemalan cashier had a U.S. flag stitched to his pocket. A partially obscured New York Times headline seemed to declare that religion had been imposed on judges.

As I crossed 34^th I said hello to Alex, a scholar of Spanish literature, but he had been brooding and could only wave. A woman smiled then snickered like I was snubbing her. A Japanese student covered her mouth from the stairs. It looked dim at first in the library.