So I flew in to NYC tonight on my annual pilgrimage to NYC for culture, fun and (I won’t lie) a good bit of drinking and people watching. It’s a sport. And, starting off my trip on a more interesting foot, I promptly took the wrong train and ended up in the Bronx at 10:30 at night.
I was supposed to be on the “A” Train. Apparently I got on the “D” Train. That’s what happens when they come on the same track and I’m too tired to pay attention. Now, I only know I’ve gotten on the wrong train when I exit the station and call my friend Kat (who I’m in town to visit, and who knows NYC very well) and tell her the streets where I’m near and she says- knowing her town quite well- that she has no clue where I am. Upon discovering that I have inadvertently shipped myself into the Bronx, Kat oh-so-casually advises me to get a cab. A bit too casually. I take this as a subtle hint that I need to get the hell out of there, and hailed a cab.
A very nice silver cab swept me up and the driver, whose name I can’t spell but who is from the Dominican Republic and is an enthusiastic Yankees fan, took me back over to Manhattan and to relative safety. In retrospect, I have to say that the Bronx were not that scary at all. Just quiet.
So now I’m safety nestled in my friends apartment with a steady WI-fi connection, two cats, two other humans, and my own bed for the weekend. Life is good.
One cat decided to welcome me by testing out my suitcase as a resting place:
The other cat is busy licking himself (like you do) and ignoring me. All in all, it’s pretty typical cat behavior. I feel very at easy.
Welcome to NYC!