I arrived at JFK last night jet lagged and hazy. The sky was gray and the air was heavy and damp, exactly as it had been the day I left only now almost 30 degrees warmer. From the taxi window, the city seemed to be heaving a slow sigh of relief that the day was drawing to a close. My cab driver bore an uncanny resemblance to Spike Lee, thick-rimmed glasses and all. He cursed the DOT for not posting proper signs alerting drivers to the closures on Atlantic Avenue in East Brooklyn. He honked the horn, other cars honked back – a nighttime taxicab symphony of sorts. I felt so far away from Barcelona or Belmont or Cutar. I was back in Brooklyn, there was no mistaking it.
I will write more tomorrow. Stories of the recent past and thoughts of the future. Now, I sleep.