Curiously, the whooshing sound of deadlines flying by when one is in the workforce, is almost identical to the sound of time racing past when one is having a good time in a large city with nowhere near enough days, or weeks, or months to do anything but dip one’s toes in the figurative water round its edges.
We heard that noise today, among the car horns and sirens and construction noise, and that of the peaceful demonstration outside Trump Tower, and the street vendors as we took one last, lingering look at the city that could consume so much more of our time were we to find a way for that to happen. Even after such a short time we’re going to miss those steaming manholes in the streets, the paradoxes, the colour, the lack of it, the stupendous works of art, and quite possibly mostly we’re going to regret that we didn’t have a work by that artist in Central Park who offered ‘bad portraits 10$”.
It’s been like living on the inside of a Rubik’s Cube and for now it’s over. Tonight when we alight from our aluminium steed, we’ll be in Canada Eh?
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