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4:30, and it’s time to go home. Walking outside baruch’s doors I see a river of people. All of them seemed to be in a rush, Like they had things to do. Some were speaking languages I’ve never heard before. Many students talking about how bad their class was. As I continue walking I stop, I see a flashing red light in a shape of a hand. From the looks of it, I thought that I should stop. Then a second later a vehicle five times larger than a car zooms by my face and looked to be going 50 miles per hour. Maybe this was sign, maybe I should stop walking when I see a flashing red sign of a hand. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. I turned a corner and that river of people became an ocean of people. But this time it was different. Not only were there students like me. There were old men and women, some dressed very business casual and then there were the middle aged men and women who had a unique taste of fashion. These middle aged adults were wearing ripped pants, this confused me. Are these people not privileged enough to afford new pants, or maybe they they ripped their pants in a fall or accident and so they were walking to a store to buy a new pair. In the middle of the city were these underground traveling systems. As I was walking down the stairway leading into this subway, I hear a marvelous roar, louder than a vacuum, maybe thirty of these vacuums all cleaning at once. Then, like a huge silver bullet, a train zooms by me. It slowly comes to a stop and as the train was passing my eyes, I noticed it was overflowing with people. I had no idea how I was going to get in. But luckily as the train was slowing down i notice a cart with only a couple people on it. So I start running to that cart as soon as the train comes to a stop. The doors open and I get in. The doors then close and the train starts to move. As I went to sit down, BOOM, it hit me. A smell, a smell so bad that I could feel my nose hairs being burned. A smell one would describe as a year old tuna sandwich. This is just giving you a very small idea of what the aroma was like. I look left, then right, and all I see are people lifting their shirts over their noses trying not to make eye contact. Then, I see it. The source of this smell. It was a man dressed in the most dirty clothes I have ever seen and his poor dog. Honestly I just felt bad for the dog.
You arrived early today, perhaps due to a lack of impediments. A white number in a circle of green, your doors open slowly, allowing me to enter. A middle-aged man wearing a backpack and holding a sign enters as I do. He shuffles around in a suspicious, almost nervous, manner for a few seconds. His clothing leads me to label him homeless. At the very least, he is of lesser means. I turn away from him to observe the rest of the only interesting thing on a train: the people. If you had no idea what month it was, and were forced to determine it based on the attire of the people you encountered in public, your guess could safely be any month of the year. I saw men and women dressed as if a blizzard had just passed; scarves, jackets, hats, earmuffs. Others were dressed as if it were summer; shorts and t-shirts made up the raiment of many individuals. Others were dressed “appropriately”, wearing those sweaters and hoodies distinctly associated with the season of autumn. The multitudes of bright colors bring life to the dull, poorly lit train car. I’m wearing my headphones, listening to an intriguing audiobook, when suddenly I hear a deep voice. Looking up from my phone, I see the man previously mentioned. He rambles on about being a good person and talks about being a part of some organization or other. The gist of his little speech is that he’s trying to sell something. As characteristic of New Yorkers, most are indifferent, many never even looking up from their phones to at least acknowledge his existence. I could care less myself, and I revert to looking down on my phone. As he begins to pass by me, I hear a female voice to my right. “I’ll buy one dollar’s worth.” “Thank you, here you go.” “Did you write these?” Write what? Is he not selling chocolates and candies? I look up and confirm that he is indeed selling a different sort of product. Poems. “Yes ma’am, I did.” I now find myself strangely intrigued by this man who I could care less about just a few seconds ago. As feelings of respect and admiration dawn on me, my stop arrives and I get off to make my way to the next train. No amount of intrigue was going to keep me from getting home on time; I had work to do.
Yeah, its that time of the day again. The time when I go to the park to hang out with my friends, shoot some hoops, and chill out; only this time, I’m a flaneur. Sitting on a park bench as I type this, I am taken away by the amount of different things I have seen already. On the field across from me, a football game rages. I can hear the “thud” of the ball as it slaps into contact with the hands of the receiver. I feel the rush of the combination of wind, cold, and sweat all around the bodies of the players, who are noticeably shivering on this chilly October afternoon. In front of me, many people pass by. Some are jogging, their exaggerated breathing is directly within earshot, some are mothers and fathers wheeling their infants around in strollers, some are rebellious high-school kids on roller blades and skateboards, and there are some like me, the flaneur. What strikes me the most is how complex this simple image of me observing the park really is. Everyone and everything I see has its own story, its own purpose of being here, and its own uniqueness. I turn to my left and I see them. The middle-aged men. They come here all the time to play bocce ball in the late afternoons. I can see one of them, probably in his early 50’s, lighting up his traditional cigar which never seems to end. Seriously, every time I come here this guy is always smoking a cigar, its like a never-ending scene from The Godfather when all the guys are hanging out and smoking. The fact that he has a thick Italian-Staten Island accent just adds the cherry on top. Forget about those guys now. I just literally witnessed a man eat a piece of candy off the ground. Literally. One of his M&M’s fell out the pouch and landed on the concrete by his feet. With a quick glance around his perimeter to make sure no one was looking, he swooped down on the candy like a hawk descending on its prey. Not surprisingly, he managed to overlook me- the flaneur-looking directly at him. That’s the thing about us flaneur’s, we’re easy to overlook, like we’re almost not there, except we are there- just lost in the crowd. We are the crowd, and our entire existence depends on the existence of the crowd. As I continue to wander this park, I see all different types of people – businessmen loosening up their ties after a long days work, older guys trying to feel young again playing basketball, curious little kids exploring the park and running around screaming- and it just amazes me how there is so much to see and experience just by doing something as simple as observing. That is why I like to “people-watch” and walk around without a clear destination in mind. In the words of the renowned poet J.R.R. Tolkien from Lord of the Rings, “not all those who wander are lost.”
Statuesque buildings everywhere as I walk up the stairs and face the environment of Manhattan. You watch as you uncontrollably join the herd of people heading to their destinations, which will remain unknown unless they’re followed and observed. People from all over the world are around you and you don’t have the slightest clue who you’re around. Men in suits with briefcases seem to be heading to a business meeting of some sort and the group of sweaty people who smell so awfully bad in front of you might have just left the gym, yet you’ll never truly know. I see homeless people everywhere with buckets and cups out expecting pedestrians to contribute any spare change and it makes me wonder if that’s their daily, all day routine. Have they been there since last night? How many people actually donated? I am left with several unanswered questions as I complete my daily task of walking the streets of New York City from Penn Station to the college that I attend. Aromas of the diverse restaurants producing delicious foods all over fill the air along with the smells of trash and sewers. The individuals speaking on their phones as they stroll don’t seem to be aware of their surroundings, as multiple times I noticed men unintentionally bump into others in madison square park; which is filled with large grassy areas with trees. Who said there was no nature in NYC? Fenced areas meant for dogs consist of loving pet owners with their pets simply having a great time and enjoying the outdoors. I’m finally at school and yet I just become a member of another herd of people heading to their intended terminus. Majority of people are in line to aboard the elevators while others are taking the escalator, with a group of people asking for donations towards causes such as breast cancer. There never really seems to be a point in time where there is nothing occurring, triggering multiple questions about everything that I see. After multiple classes consisting of abundant work, I’ll head home and do everything the next day identically, yet everything that I see will be different.
A Flaneur is one who loses himself in a crowd, he can’t really find his spot or social position and is overall unsure about his current environment. Personally I have also been in this type of situation as well, therefore I was a Flaneur, or at least formally. On my first day of high school back in Brooklyn, I remember being lectured along with other Freshman about behavior and expectations for the coming year. I remember sitting in the small auditorium listening intentively to everything the principal had to say. Socially I was at a major disadvantage, because many of the Freshman already knew each other from previous years. After the 45 minute aggressive speech which nearly felt like a diatribe, a club and extracurricular fair was held. You did have some of those kids who didn’t participate in any activity and opted out to play basketball, which I decided to do. While they were making teams however I felt ostracized, I felt that I have nothing to do with these kids and that I should be doing something else. Eventually I left the court in search for an activity or extracurricular that may interest me. Being from a quiet and boring neighborhood in Long Island, I wasn’t accustomed to the loud chirping borough that was Brooklyn. Cars, buses, sirens and shouts filled the cool autumn air. I was in a world of my own. So many different people that I’ve never seen before, attempting to make out all these different faces, it was too strange for me. After joining a leadership program, I felt somewhat satisfied. As the fair ended, my mind was in a thousand different places. Walking home, I must’ve heard 5 different languages; Brooklyn is a very diverse place. I was simply overwhelmed, emotionally overwhelmed. I was so focused on what will come next in my life and that my surrounding environment was completely irrelevant. I was just thinking about myself the whole time. I was somewhat a Flaneur, just a different rendition of a Flaneur.
It is 2:05 on Wednesday. I walk out of the archaic 17 Lexington Ave. building on 23rd street and into the sunny afternoon. I always go chill somewhere, but today I have a ton of math homework that’s due the next day and I haven’t started yet. Also it’s much easier to observe people on my commute home, as they don’t suspect me watching them. I walk a short distance to the station where I get on a R train and head downtown. I am in the train for about ten seconds when three people begin playing music and walk down the subway car asking for money. This is nothing new to me; I have been riding in subways since I was five years old. I just plug in my headphones and look away. I do feel a little bit of sympathy for them, but I also know I cannot help everyone. It occurs to me that panhandling will always be a permanent part of New York City. I want to see something extreme.
Part two of my almost 2 hour journey to home is taking the ferry to Staten Island. Again, nothing new. People are either reading magazines or sleeping. I am thinking this will be another boring commute. Finally, something catches my interest. I hear dice rolling in the aisle in front of me. I instantly know two things. First, the game being played is c-lo, simply because it is very popular in Staten Island. I also know it is illegal to gamble out in the open public like that. Perhaps that is why the game catches my interest. The people playing it are taking a huge risk, especially because of all the security guards on the ferry. As soon as one of the security guards comes near their aisle, the four people playing the game immediately put the dice away and pretend like nothing happened. I find their reaction at seeing a security officer and scramble to hide everything to be amusing. Even though what they are doing is illegal, it feels like a few kids are misbehaving more than anything, even though they all seem to be at least in high school. My commute might remain the same everyday, but I will rarely see c-lo being played right in front of me.
I’m at the corner of herald square seeing all the contrasting characters. Theirs a hostility between pedestrians and cab drivers. They are both pushing to get to where they need to go. You can see a crowd of people walking from Penn station to the subway like zombies as if they have been doing this for the past 20 years. Three business men two wearing black suits and the other a navy suit having a heated conversation. You see a group of tourist flock to a street vendor selling selfie sticks for five dollars. You can see the blinking sign of Jacks as people well dressed and even the homeless coming out with bags of merchandise. All the Citi bikes are gone and you know that it’s a part of most people’s commute, and if you come back in the evening it’s all full. There is a man who is wearing ripped clothing and at first I thought he was homeless but I realized that it was a style. Why would you want to look like that but I remembered how one of my favorite designer’s new clothing line is identical to what he was wearing. There is a man selling perfume on the side walk and the cheap stench of it was gravitating towards me. People often judge people based on how they dress. I’m looking at another man wearing a really nice suit and I automatically believed that he was a business man. Theirs a little park and I realized that everyone was on their phone, no one was taking a break from reality and to unwind a little. I kid just passed me ridding a hover board and it reminded me of how I wanted to buy one a few months ago but I realized how immature he looks on one of them. I look into an H&M and there is a security guard who is huge, is size is incomparable to me. There is a line at a Halal cart and the smoke coming from it fills the air. The smell made my stomach growl. There are hundreds of tourist speaking languages from all around the world. You can tell that many of them are European and you see people giving them a bad eye as they just stop walking in the middle of the side walk. New Yorkers “hate” tourist but we decide to work or live in one of the most visited places in the world. It is unfathomable to see how different yet alike we all are.
The rumbling and swaying of carts relaxes and soothes me, and possibly the other passengers too. The screeching of the tracks are automatically tuned out by the accustomed commuter. With no cell signal or WiFi, one must decided how to pass the time. Until you get to your destination, there really isn’t much you can do. You can try and be productive, bringing your work and readings with you, or you can just sit there and forget, in that moment, the things you need to do.
It was the nice time to get on the subway; everyone was either still at work or school, it was before rush hour. Everyone was in their own world yet they were still aware of their surroundings. To achieve this bubble effect there are several options, but are not limited to the following: listening to music, playing games on your phone, reading, or dozing off to catch up on some sleep. If you have a friend with you, you would talk to them like you are in your own private space. Everyone is in on the conversation and you know that they are probably listening to your conversation, but we all pretend not to hear a word. It was a silent agreement made by everyone and broken only by a few. Whatever is done is noted, it is public after all.
An elderly woman comes up to the map that displays where all the trains go, trying to figure out how to get to her desired location. Bystanders watch her, see her try on her own, expecting for her to find the way because in New York everyone knows. She eventually gives up the search and asks the man sitting near her for help. Once the question is asked, it was up for discussion for anyone within ears reach who wanted to help. She asked one man and instead got three responses from three other people. The woman, satisfied with her answer, got off the train. Everyone resumed their neutral stances; a stance many subway goers have mastered, while avoiding eye contact.
I had a window seat and looked out the window for some more inspiration. I had seen enough of the people inside the cart. Everyone on the outside looked either down or straight ahead, never up. It is said that if you look up, you look like a tourist. Being a tourist in your own city is looked down upon. New Yorkers do not like tourists, but we tolerate them. Everyone does their own thing, not showing a care about what others think.
I look back inside my cart because the windows have moved on to the pitch black tunnels. It’s quiet, as usual. There are the occasional chat with friends, some performers, or people with a message to say, but that was not happening at the moment. You will see all types of people here; you just have to be at the right place and at the right time to see them.
During those days when there’s no school, I find myself exploring a new area in the city. I preferably love finding myself roaming in a park with a vast water view. Now that more parks are being built on New York City’s lands its in my duty to relish them all.
Waking up to see scenery isn’t a hassle for me even if it’s during a snowstorm. This occurred during the snowstorm of this past winter. Yes, it was chillier than chilly peppers but the snow falling down onto the dock, my hat, the statue of liberty and the ferry approaching at a distance was an incredibly beautiful snow wonderland.
Today I’ve come across one of those days but with a more pleasant weather condition. I usually don’t come alone and today was one of those days that I had company. My company for these journeys is also my photographer and best friend. It’s all about photo shoots whenever we come across beautiful scenery. Today we stopped to start the photo session at Chelsea Pier 61, after getting off at the new last stop of the seven train. We hadn’t gone to see what was so special about this new station before. Coming out the station and walking for a few blocks we saw water from afar and knew we just had to go check it out. I cherish every photo of my discoveries even the one of today. My pose is captured in front of a background of the sun’s light causing the water to sparkle of the Hudson River and New Jersey’s distant buildings.
Another of my companies is solitude. I give myself days to just get away from it all: family, society, schoolwork and other obligations. I guess you can say it’s my stress reliever. I let trains take me to the destination of their choice. As I sit on a train I check what other trains I can transfer to and do so. Long walks are what I live for. The tranquility of not having any point in life during walks is the peaceful aspect of it. All worries vanish. And if not then issues racing through my head are cleared up with the help of solitude and water sceneries.
Great company, no worries and discoveries of beautiful sites are how I’m a flâneur. A flâneur of New York City rather than the originals of Paris. Flaneur is a French word to adequately describe me uncovering water views yet to be discovered by me.
I’ve come to find my newest favorite spot every new journey I take. I always say to myself “I’ve found my new favorite place” but this repeats itself every time. By the time I’m twenty-five I know I’ll step on the acres of every city park, including the small unknown ones not so present on a popular map. I haven’t seen it all yet but what’s out there for me will be discovered unknowingly. This is the beauty of being a flâneur and I’ll continue to be one till I see every inch of all parks.
A Flaneur is a person who cannot find a position within a crowd, yet follows the crowd in search for one. The immense crowds of fat people hustled across the streets, rushing in the direction of other over populated sidewalks. So many drivers honked their car horns when the fat people strolled through the traffic jammed intersections even after the red hand signal light stopped flashing. A noisy group children, who looked no older than 10 years of age, escalated their horse play amongst themselves into the street. Sadly, one pleasantly plump child who had ketchup stains on his shirt dashed after some friends into the street of oncoming traffic and was hit by a light blue mini van. The child shrugged of the impact, but I understood the child felt some sort of pain based on the child’s frequent hand soothing rubs. The driver without any remorse drove off as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Surprisingly, no one came to the child’s aid in case of the accident caused any injuries. All alone, I sat on a bench neighboring an outside courted restaurant, searching for something or someone else of interest. Everything appeared in constant motion of the chaos. Table scraps, dirty newspapers, and other garbage breezed with the gust. Birds that fought over leftovers chirped against each other loudly. Dogs dragged those who held their leashes. One dog raced down the city block without any person holding it’s leash. Obese pushy hotdog vendors vocalized their request for business to all pedestrians who walked passed. Lean fruit selling entrepreneurs quietly sorted their overpriced produced. Walkers with different heights strutted relatively at the same speed unless a few creeped upon slower walkers or walkers entering stores. Even disheveled people chilling by the Blue Bank begged occasionally between chewing mouthfuls of edible trash. Bike riders peddled their way through congested street lanes. Everyone, expect me from my perspective filled a role.
“Stand clear of the closing doors, please” those seven words gave me the last spurt of energy to run up the stairs and get to the train before it can close on me. Without even properly having the time to collect myself from the mayhem of the early morning rush hour, I found myself as usual amongst the crowd of tired and weary individuals. Surrounded and with no place to move, I was suddenly assaulted by the horrid stench. A man what appeared to be in his late forties sluggishly made his way in the train. With the already limited space that was left, eyes popped open as they too had realized what was happening. As the door closed only a handful of people were able to escape and the rest of us were panicking waiting for the next stop to arrive. Looking around people were covering their nose and dry coughed with their butts on the ledge of the seat. I looked back and the homeless man was somehow miraculously isolated and people were huddling around each other. This is not a unfamiliar scene if you regularly take the subway. Often, shelters are able to provide a roof under their heads as well as a decent meal but, why don’t they seek to gain these services? The wide open cut on the leg of the man turns green and remains untreated and looks as if he has no intentions of getting it treated. It seemed the man haven’t taken a decent shower in months. We were all trapped and in brutal pain, dozens of eyes were watering including mine. The train slowly strutting its way along the tracks and reaching the next stop was not going to happen for another minute. A cry came from the his direction and suddenly a trail of liquid came running down the floor with no intentions of stopping. It wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that he was urinating, and it also wasn’t long for the others to know what was happening right in front of their eyes. Already trapped in such a small space we all were juggling our feet trying to find an area not covered in urine. Luckily for those sitting down were able to prop their feet up and and eventually the people standing had stepped into the pool. “Well, what a lovely start to our day,” a person yelled out. Who would have known that the rest of our day would have been completely ruined by the presence of an individual. What seemed like a great day ahead of us had been shattered and left with a bad impression. As the train came to a screeching halt we all waddled our way out and into the next cart hoping we would expect better later on in the day.
Finally, math is over, I could barely keep my eyes open. Its only Tuesday for Christ sake, basically a Monday. Why was the teacher so lively anyways? Whatever I’m outta here. Stupid two hour commute I just want to go home already. Surprisingly, the subway is packed to the door and I barely got in. I grabbed a hold of the metal pole in the middle near the doors. I did my usual routine of looking around and seeing who was around me. It was always weird how no one else looks around, sometimes I feel like they see me looking actually. Imagine getting caught staring at someone, quite embarrassing. An hour subway ride to the LIRR. I took out my headphones and started playing Reptilia by The Strokes. I began to look around and maybe it’s just me but I think about random things sometimes. Ever since I started coming to the city, I always feared losing something important like my wallet or my car keys. I went to check my bag really quick, everything was there like always. I always stress these random things for some reason. What if someone were to steal my wallet while I was walking, like a pickpocket or something, you never know. I looked around again one last time before I left the train for the six train. Finally outta there, the lady next to me was really obnoxious rubbing up on my hand next to the pole with her fat stomach and what not. That just shouldn’t happen as often as it does. Anyways I’m on to the six train now. Its kind of a different atmosphere, it makes me sort of anxious. Disclaimer I would like to say this before I start, I am not a racist person. The train that I was on was headed to Jamaica and generally speaking there are a lot of African American people on the train. When I look around I see, what I perceive to be, hard working people who live hard lives, possibly due to their color of skin. I feel bad, but at the same time I feel anxious. What if I get caught staring here, let feel my backpack for my wallet. Everything’s still there, no worries. I still look around, a little more discreet this time. Everyone is doing there own thing for the most part, and it seems as if playing a game meant for two but it’s just me. I like to look at peoples eyes sometimes, it makes me feel like I can gauge their personality or something. The man near the door has eyes that are almost lifeless and there are deep, dark bags under his eyes. A man is talking to him and he’s responding but there’s no feeling, something must be wrong with him. The man that accompanied the lifeless man has eyes that are almost childlike, he examines everything with admiration or something. It gives me some sort of reassurance. The train stops at Jamaica center, my stop, and I hop on the LIRR to Deer Park.
As I sat in Central Park just watching the pigeons walk by me and seeing the chemical streams from airplanes in the sky, I started to notice there was more going on around me. The leaves on the trees were changing, people were running, chatting, enjoying themselves, yet, I sat alone just watching the birds. I had no reason to be in the park, no plans for the rest of the day, I just sat in the grass with nothing but my own company.
Since I had nothing planned, I decided to see what would happen if I just observed and maybe wandered a little bit. I started to walk down a small path, I passed people playing tennis on the tennis courts, and I listened to all the different languages of the tourists as they passed me on the path. I continued wandering aimlessly until I came across the castle that Gargamels castle in the Smurfs’ is modeled after. I began exploring the castle, seeing all the school age children get excited seeing a movie prop come to life, even the young adults were lighting up the room with excitement seeing their childhood television show come to life.
After I left the castle, I went and sat at a table near a food shack. Everybody seemed so calm here, no one was in their typical hurry to get somewhere everyone just sat and ate. A breeze came through and leaves started falling to the ground, squirrels ran up in trees to collect nuts for the upcoming winter and dogs on leashes barked at the squirrels yet, the people still minded their own business. For a moment, I lost myself in the silence of the crowd, not a word was spoken.
I was lost in the crowd for almost twenty minutes before someone ordered something from the food shack, breaking the immense silence that had been going on for the last twenty minutes. I finally decided to start walking again and seeing where I ended up. I started to follow a new path that went north, I knew I would have to go home at some point in time, although, I was beginning to enjoy just wandering around with no one to tell me what to do.
After almost forty minutes of aimlessly walking down a path, passing everything that looked exactly the same as the other path, I found myself in the same grassy patch to sit down and watch the pigeons and sky again.
I look up from my phone, five minutes of enjoyment watching random YouTube videos in the back of the room. The teacher finishes up her sentence then puts the marker down and packs up. Class is over, and it’s time to go…somewhere. Where exactly I don’t know. Hallways are empty, coast is clear. It’s still quite early, though what time was it I don’t know. I walk straight, through a door and towards the elevator. After exiting the elevator I go down some stairs and exit through Baruch doors. It’s pretty nice outside, a calm breeze welcomes me as I walk to the end of the block. The amount of people in my vicinity has seemed to tripled, and now I find myself bumping into strangers. I don’t want to go home, but I don’t know what to do. I look around at all the stores, delis, diners and even some food stands. All the food around me meshes into one amazing scent, and now I’m hungry. I walk into a 7-Eleven store to grab some coffee, they were offering free coffee throughout the week, and when it comes to free stuff I don’t play around. Looking around the store, I’m beyond tempted to buy half the store. Cinnamon bun,s doughnuts, chips, hot dogs oh my I better get my coffee and get moving. I enter the subway station where I find myself holding coffee in one hand, my wallet in the other and have to maneuver myself to take my metro card out and swipe it. The only thing worse was the smell of garbage and sweaty people. Somehow I swipe my metro card and wait for the train. when I got on the train it looked like half of these metro riders were just left off. Just being around them depressed me, some were sleeping quietly, some looked like they were about to fall asleep, and the rest were just not in a good mood. The car was crowded, passengers trying to exit were congested which led to some shoving and frustration. Eventually I got off the train and began walking north. Flushing, as always welcomed me with a warm sent of hot garbage just sitting there next to the escalators waiting to be thrown out. There were many high schoolers talking obnoxiously loud even though they were literally 5 feet away from each other, why I never understood. I shook my head, took a left down the block onto a plaza, took a right to the end of that block, walked straight a few blocks and made it home. I enjoy walking home, I prefer the walk over the bus. Why you might ask? I don’t know.
The sky became dark grey and the wind blustery. The birds and squirrels disappeared. The leaves flew off the roof and as I looked out the bay window I knew it was going to pour any minute now. I could hear the impatient beeping on 69th and every couple of beeps a car came speeding down my block thinking they could beat the traffic, but little did they know they weren’t going to get very far. The traffic can get pretty crazy by the graveyard. I watched my tenant leave the house to take Frankie for a walk. He was a tiny beige dog, but he was loud. I saw a lady cross the street with a big dog down the block and I wondered if he did it because he saw Frankie. Frankie finished his business then they came back in. I could hear him running up the stairs and then pacing back and forth in the apartment. The clicking of his nails was cute and it finally started pouring.
The rain was coming down real fast. Traffic on 69th was still bad; in fact, some cars stopped on the side of the road. I could see the rain flowing down the driveway and into the drain. The view became blurry and I couldn’t see 69th anymore. The rain drops would fall to the ground so fast that they appeared to hit the ground and then jump back up. I faintly saw a lady running across the street. She didn’t have an umbrella; so I began wondering how far from home she actually was. I remembered the last time I got stuck in a storm. I was walking through the graveyard and I was 15minutes away from the nearest store. Worst experience of my life! The lady running was soaked already I was just hoping she wouldn’t get sick. I saw my neighbor’s car coming down the street. His windshield wipers were moving really quick. He got into the driveway and opened the garage door from inside the car. He jetted out the car, slammed the door behind him, and ran into his garage. He got inside quickly because after about 10 seconds I could hear the garage door closing. An hour and a half passed and I was still looking out the window. I didn’t even realize how fast the time went. An hour and a half of doing homework could’ve felt like years, but by just doing nothing it flew by. I appeared to be a flaneur that rainy day.
My eyes open as I hear the annoying chime of my 7 A.M alarm. I go through my usual routine of getting ready and eating breakfast and then I head to the train station. As I wait on the platform I see a variety of characters. Some look weary and tired from having to get up early, others look prepared and excited as they talk to their peers. By the time the train finally arrives the platform is packed and people anxiously crowd around the doors hoping to get a seat. I have a long commute to school so I hurry in and take the first seat I see. Once I settle down I take a look around at my surroundings. Next to me is a young woman with brown hair. She’s wearing a black blazer with white shiny buttons and black dress pants which indicates she’s off to a meeting of some sort. She intently studies a packet of worksheets in her lap, probably in preparation for wherever she is going. Across from me is a mother and her son. The boy’s eyes are open wide with excitement as he looks out the window of the train. The mother sits in silence with her eyes closed. Her face looks weary and her hair is graying. I decide to close my eyes and nap for the rest of the ride. Finally the train screeches to a stop at 23rd street and I get off. Upon leaving the station I find myself in the midst of a loud and lively city. Around me there are masses of people all in a hurry to get somewhere. As I make my way to Baruch’s campus I begin to see more and more students. I see one student in the navy Baruch hoodie and black ripped jeans, and another student dressed in a suit and wearing brown shoes with golden tipped laces. Once I reach the front of the vertical campus I see groups of students lounging around waiting for their next class. Some are leisurely sitting at the silver tables chatting or doing homework, others are sitting on the curb eating halal food. I look at my phone and notice I’m a bit early for class, so I decide to take a short break and observe the other people a bit longer. After about 5 minutes I feel a tap on my shoulder; it’s my friend Vince telling me it’s time to go to class. I guess that’s enough observing for one day.
A typical day walking home again, same people in the same places. The walk down the Vertical Campus stairs and escalator. The five minute walk to the 6 train uptown. Another ten minutes of my life gone to waste, waiting for the train. As I descend down the stairs to reach the 7 train. The world around me seemed to slow, maybe it’s the biological and psychological change when your brain makes new connections and sees new things. It was the same homeless man in the same spot each and every day but this time was different.
The world not only slowed down but also seemed to glow and appear brighter in my eyes. A tall, slender women whose face I could not put a finger on. Normally, I would be able to understand the general attitude of an individual by their facial expressions but this one was different. The moment I described before when the world around me literally slowed down, she seemed like an angel. She handed the man a sandwich and a bottle of water. But more than that, she decided to sit down next to him. She sat down and began talking to him. From what I could conclude he was asked “How did you become like this?”
The question wasn’t a hard one, not for anyone and shouldn’t be hard for him. I could only imagine the answers he could give. “It was because of drugs” or “It was because of the economy” or “mental issues.” I did not actually get to hear the answer to his question. Because after all, the moment was merely a few seconds under the rush, the New York City rush.