My Version

I looked straight into the eyes of the city this morning and asked her what kind of morning it would be.  Sometimes I do that, and sometimes she'll tell me.  I don't always ask, but today I needed to ask because the people of the city were telling me what it was going to be like, and it didn't particularly jive well.  Like the confrontational woman in the subway who blames you for not moving enough so she can get to an open seat without any inconvenience, even though you have no room to move to the right, the left, up, down, front, or back.  Then there's the smell of excrement that reoccurs on each part of your commute, from the ferry, to the subway, and the walk to the office.  I was hoping the city would tell me a crooner swing was in order, to warmly enchant me in spite of the chilly fall breeze.  But I haven't heard back yet.  However, I'm starting to realize that you make this city your own by not leaving it up to her to make it for you.  And in those moments when she gives you something to work with, or even for free, you've already learned how to just sit and appreciate it. 

So with that, I give you my version of this Manhattan morning.