The view from 70 Park

I'm staying at the Doral Park Avenue in NYC. Just finished the best cheeseburger I've ever eaten, in 70 Park the lounge/lobby bar. Rounded out with a chilly Bass ale. I've been reading Kissing in Manhattan on loan from LK, a great collection of connected short stories the first of which could have taken place right here. The rain is not as cold as it looks, but the view of the street is expansive and yet compartmentalized, like watching a movie on an impressive high definition screen. It's dark and wooden in here. A large table fills the center of the room, low with tea lights placed at every corner. In the center is a fluid dark wooden sculpture that is smooth and shiny, and makes me think of two accomplished partners dancing to a thrumming latin beat, or maybe a couple of praying mantises negotiating the moment before copulation. No edges, just rounded dark shiny parts, all elbows and knees and shoulders, it seems.

Outside a pizza delivery guy is trying to navigate the street. I've watched him for maybe 10 minutes. He keeps looking at the street signs, then at a slip of paper now soggy, then back at the street signs as if they will fill in the blanks for him, maybe add some subtitles to help him find where he needs to be. I know how he feels. Unless that hot oven bag has an internal power source, his customers are going to be unhappy. He doesn't seem to notice the rain.

The last time I was in the city at this time of year was maybe five years ago, and I was wandering happily around Rockefeller center, where all the holiday fanfare glowed with bright optimistic light. It seems so much darker today.

Feeling lonely, wondering what it is exactly I'm doing here. Waiting for the heartburn to kick in (it's only a matter of time). But damn that was a good burger. The juice dribbled out, soaking the bun. I used the heavy knife as a placeholder, balanced across the top of the pages so I could read without touching them and getting them all damp and greasy. When the waiter came and collected my plate he let me keep the knife so I could keep reading for a while longer.

I'm exhausted and want to play, but with the exception of turkey day the next three weeks are going to be a brutal nonstop work travel nightmare. I keep wondering why I am doing this. There is no obvious or satisfying answer. But soon I will throw myself into work and the days will pass. I have to remember to breathe. And take my reflux meds, just in case.


posted by MT at 9:45 PM |