Sweat drips incessantly down my back, offering slight relief from the heat where it lands.
The man down the bench from me is whirling watery iced coffee around in its plastic cup.
There’s that strange Irish man looming near, and I can tell he’s going to speak to me before he does.
“You always carry a fan around with you?”
My paper folding fan.
I say something like, “when it’s this hot,” still not looking at him.
“I carry a fan with me in the winter,” he says, not looking at me either.
I ignore this, and he stands up…
Living in New York City isn’t glamorous, but I knew that before I moved here.
It keeps you awake — it makes sense. I came from suburban North Carolina where there are vast, sleepy stretches of nothing and no one.
In New York, you’re never really lonely even when you’re really, really lonely. You can always feel the movement of the city.
There’s so much to be had. You step out onto the street, take another step and you’re underground. You take another step and you’re on a train, and two seconds later, that train is moving. …