It has come to my attention that I have given an overly harsh portrayal of my life thus far in NYC. To be sure, it has been difficult, but on the whole, very wonderful indeed. I give evidence of the foregoing in this:
We have had the pleasure of staying a few nights in a most commodious upper west side Penthouse. By commodious, I mean King-sized beds, Plasma TVs, and gourmet coffee. By penthouse, I mean that it occupies half of the top floor of a ritzy, door-man building. I even had the sinful pleasure of pressing the “PH” button on the elevator in front of a few stunned, well-to-do looking folks. I could hear them thinking, “I wonder what he does for a living?” while I rode past their floors, which, in my present state, I could never afford.
Today, I had the pleasure of taking my morning coffee and meditation on the sun-soaked terrace, which overlooks central park west & lower Manhattan. I silently sipped my aromatic stimulant as the summer breeze watched Apollo’s chariot complete its labor.
Truthfully? Any moments of rapture that could have brought profundity to my day were cut off by my snapping up a few pics like a Japanese (is that racist?) tourist.