One Hot Day In New York, With A Cop, The Girl and Us

It’s hot. I like it. I hate the cold. It makes me nervous and itchy. The heat is a sensual sensation that I can’t resist. I walk out of my daytime icebox and reclaim my existence. I have to get to my friend’s job so she can give me the key to her apartment. I live with her. This is temporary. I’m in transition. Actually, I’m in a lot of trouble but that sounds desperate.

As I make my way to my friend’s office, I’m expertly weaving my way through the bodies of strangers that fly by me. Even at the stoplight — the space between all of us is minimal. We might as well have a fuck fest if we’re going to be slathering each other with our breathlessness and sweaty skin.

I’m reminded that it’s been awhile since I’ve had sex with another human -mainly because I’ve become quite good at pleasuring myself. Also, I don’t seem to be meeting the kind of guys that I want to fuck. When the light changes and I cross the street — I breeze by a couple of guys that inspire me to make their balls happy. They don’t see me.

I’m close. I see her building. I’m sweating and I stink. I didn’t shower this morning because I was running late. I had too much to drink the night before. I’m not sure if I’m an alcoholic but I’m certain I drink way too much. I woke up late and I had to run out of my friend’s apartment as if my life depended on it. Because it does.

I walk down the outdoor staircase into the modest courtyard. The water fountain makes me feel cooler. God I stink! And I’m pissed because I just checked my phone and she’s telling me that she can’t come down yet. She’s been doing this lately. I can’t get into the goddamn apartment without the key.

I take a seat. Feels good to be off my feet. These shoes are flat and they don’t protect me from the unforgiving landscape of the city. I look at my phone. She suggests that I walk around because it’ll be awhile. No. Hell no! I’m not going anywhere. My feet hurt. And I have nowhere to go. I would go shopping but I have no money to spend. I’m a temp. So, I’m going to stay put.

I tell her that and she says “Okay” and adds a smiley face at the end. She also adds “LOL”. What the fuck is so funny?

I have time to spare. I’m holding my phone. I’m not in the mood to listen to music. I need to preserve my battery. I intend to walk from East 52nd Street to West 96th Street. Also, life has been a bitch lately. I’m in that space where nothing is going my way and like a spoiled child — I want the pain to stop. Now!

But I’m a 42-year-old woman with bad credit and no career. So the only thing to do is to sit and wait for my friend.

I look around and see clusters of people huddled in earnest discussion. I can’t hear what they’re saying. They’re tourists. Who cares? Then I see others who are alone. They are making out with their phones and I’m disgusted. I was about to the very same thing. But instead I decide to pretend like I’m living in 1999.

I find myself watching the traffic of people walking up and down the stairs. It’s fascinating. I stand out. Nobody in this day and age sits and observes their surroundings. That’s so 1995. I feel high and mighty — almost like a modern day scientist recording the findings of the day. Again. Fascinating.

Some of the trekkers quickly glance at me in wonderment. She’s just sitting there. On purpose. Why? Others — mostly guys, check me out. Nice!

Then two cops and a girl situate themselves next to me. She’s petite and attractive. I’m immediately struck by their calm demeanor. They want to help this girl who was apparently attacked by a homeless man. She answers their questions and after listening — I can honestly say I’m glad I wasn’t donning headphones.

She wasn’t attacked. His cart mistakenly struck her and now she’s traumatized. They are patient and I’m intrigued. People are drawn to the scene. I can’t decide if it’s because the cops are towering over her or the fact that she’s young and beautiful.

They ask her birthdate. She’s my youngest brother’s age. He’s 14 years younger than me. My mother had fibroids and had difficulty carrying a baby to term. He was our miracle.

There is another emergency close by that forces the cops to leave the girl for a few minutes. She waits and I continue to gaze at the metropolitans going up and down the stairs.

They look so purposeful and eager for the journey ahead. Some have substituted heels for sneakers. Others look like they spent the day devoid of any sense of responsibility. It’s a collage of varied dispositions but despite that — the mission is universal.

I love the comfort I feel without that damn phone. I can enjoy the tempo of life without relying on a gadget to see me through the hour. How many of you can fucking say that?

Anyway, one of the cops returns to the girl. He needs to wrap things up. He keeps checking me out. Slyly. I like that. He was doing it before but now it’s cutely blatant.

This proves I will have sex with another human being. Soon.

I get a text. It’s my friend. She’s on her way down. I tell her not to bother. I’m going to make love to the city by foot. And by the time I come — she and I will be home.

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!