I
stagger out from the
lobby of my
Fifth Avenue apartment at 4:50 AM. I must have caught
New York, the
city that never sleeps at an inopportune time, because it's sure as hell sleeping.
Thirty degrees fahrenheit, and the wind whips around the corners of the
buildings, which seem like giant rectangular prisms of
warmth.
As I jog past
Washington Square Park, I notice a
coterie of homeless men huddled together against the side of a building. They have assembled a temporary lean-to on the side of the
Stern School of Business building, and are bundled up from head to toe. As I run by, comparatively naked in my
spandex, an irrational burst of
jealousy hits me. How much would I give to be asleep and
warm, surrounded by the
companionship of fellow humans?
I ran through
SoHo down
Broadway as the hulking twin towers of the
World Trade Center gradually approached until they swallowed up my view of the brightening
sky.
On my way back, the city awoke, the sun was
emerging, and Fifth Avenue was again the
stomping ground of students,
ladies with lap dogs and
businessmen.
And I forget about the homeless.