Or, a Tale of My Three-Day Trip to New York in only Sounds, Smells, Tastes, and the Occasional Sight
Heat of the Port Authority Bus terminal
Smell of Diesel and old old pavement
Wave of noise outside: people, cars, beeping horns
Rattle of my suitcase for the ten blocks through Times Square to our hotel
Spider-Man cosplayer wandering around Times Square, hissing behind passersby
Wave of air conditioning, ding of the elevator for floor 11
Sitting on the bed, staring out at the window at skyscrapers, no skyline visible, listening to this:
Wave of heat, sticky and humid
Smells of people, sewers, sweaty horses
Taste of pickles and the biggest pile of Reuben I’ve ever seen with tangy sauce
Listening in to the people next to us discuss the staging of Angels in America. (“Then the wing reveal? Okay.”)
The sounds of a violin player and a cellist playing in a Central Park tunnel
Smells of grass and people and sewer and piss alternating with some incredibly fragrant tree
The “ding” of the elevator audible at night
The beep of the Metro Card machine
The screech of the subway
“Stand Clear of the Closing Doors, Please!”
The cool, temp-and-humidity controlled air of the Met
The clicks and whirrs of people taking pictures of the art
Really mediocre museum salad
Waiting in line for a comedy show, drenched in sudden rain
(Smells like RAIN people sewer dirt metal brick old)
Delicious bagel in the morning, although always with melty American cheese
The plod of our feet on the Manhattan bridge, the vastly louder scream of the subway trains passing by every few minutes.
The taste of Lombardi’s pizza. Actually legit best pizza I’ve had. Something about the sauce, the real Italian sausage.
Heat and sore feet and sweat-soaked clothing.
The clack of pool balls at the Fat Cat.
The burp and purr of the bus to LaGuardia.