NYC Imperative

Head to New York. Go passive aggressively. Aggressively be a passenger—don’t even think about driving yourself.

Take a train, cabs, the subway. Or, this time, hop into the back of your friend’s Mercedes diesel. While he navigates his familiar route and the heavy traffic, sit back, relax, and wish for nothing but that you were already there.

Note the hard ugliness of the approach.

Upon arrival at the West Side parking garage, leap from the car and climb the ramp to the streets. The sweet streets. Be fleet—there are places to go and people to see.

Weave through the crowd. Marvel at the produce stands. Wish you could live like this, on foot, stopping at the market on the way home, picking out what’s fresh for your very next meal. Feel nostalgia. Wonder if you lived this way in a previous life. Wonder if there are previous lives. Keep walking.

Make a labyrinth-y beeline to the watering hole five blocks away, expertly dancing around other pedestrians. Sidle up to the curvy zinc bar and order a Hendrick’s martini with a twist from the young bartender who doesn’t know how to make a Vesper. Clink glasses with your dear friends.

Rush five blocks back to another restaurant. Add more dear friends. Order a fish baked in sea salt. Eat the cheeks first. Clink glasses again.

Cross the street to the Beacon Theatre. Choose a night when someone you love takes the stage. Find your seat. Behold the thirty-foot-tall Greek goddesses and the murals of caravans. Consider the 2,890 seats versus the five stalls in the women’s room. Plan accordingly.

Take your binoculars. Now and then, magnify hands and lips and faces. Mostly, lose yourself in sound. Forget the trail of bread crumbs.