New York City: Day 4

Aug 19, 2014 by

On day 4, things get painful.  Literally painful.  Your feet are cracked and blistered and only feel like human feet when they are totally bare.  An old ankle injury from college has also decided to flare up.  Walking anywhere takes a long time and is very slow, which is not great since you have a lot to do today.

You head to the Upper West Side early in the morning to meet the dog you’ll be dog-sitting later in the week.  She is a sweet, beautiful creature named Penny and you love her immediately.  You miss your own dog so much that spending time with this sleek little lab is sure to be a balm for the soul.  You look forward to that.  Penny’s owner, a TV writer, tells you that you have a good name for someone trying to get into the business.  Memorable.  And that your business cards are adorable.

You have another temp agency interview, which goes really well.  You have a good feeling about this agency, and you need that good feeling, because you’re starting to get really worried about money.  You’ve been spending so much of it getting set up here, and generating none.  After the interview, you limp down to a bag store near Union Square and find pretty much the perfect city satchel.  You could not be more pleased.  Then you limp a few more blocks to The Meatball Shop, home of muy delicioso vegetarian meatballs and perfect risotto, and you have lunch.  The woman sitting next to you at the counter is a little nutty and wants to make conversation, and you’re game for that, until she receives her food and loudly announces: “I don’t know why poor people use so much salt!”  Check please.

You have another temp agency interview in the afternoon, and it also goes well.  But the man who interviews you says that the few weeks at the end of summer are the slowest time of the year for temp work.  You smile, thank him for his time, and limp home to Brooklyn to soak your feet.

In the evening, you head back out to the East Village to see some Chicago friends do a Chicago play at the NY Fringe Festival.  On the way, you grab a slice of terrible pizza for dinner.  The show (The Three Faces of Doctor Crippen) is wonderful, just like when you saw it years ago.


Seeing Chicago and Chicago-ex-pat friends, both onstage and in the audience, is heartwarming.  Everyone hugs and encourages everyone else, buys drinks and tells old stories, and reminds you of a self you used to be, in another big city, who was just fine.  Who thrived.

And you don’t worry about money again until you’re standing alone on the subway platform at 2am, headed home.  Wherever that is.

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