SIGHT
I'm just going to say this and I'm going to leave it where it falls, but ...
Last night as I was closing my blinds, I sure do wish one couple would've closed theirs.
Gracious.
SOUND
I'm still amused by the hush-hush whispers of Asian men and women grasping for my attention as I meandered along Canal Street with my aunt on Saturday.
"KucciPradaLoueeVetawnCoash? Come come, no? Fow me, miss, fow me. Come, come."
SMELL
I don't know what it is, but the pungent odor that pervades the subway station at 34th Herald Square/Penn Station never changes. It always smells like a mixture of urine, vomit and something sketchy like fruit cake baking in the hot underground.
I know, I know. You just threw up in your mouth a little reading it, but I tell you -- no other station reeks quite like that one. They're not reek-free by any means, but that one is some kinda pungent all kinds of the time. And as gross as all that is, it gave me the most familiar, Eagles-style peaceful, easy feeling.
I miss that city.
So much.
TOUCH
Other places I have been, the people swerve, dodge, stop and tip a hat or nearly jump sideways to keep from touching you, but not there. Before I even stepped onto the city streets I was jammed in two-by-twos, wedged on an escalator in Penn Station. My shoulders brushed other shoulders and backpacks and forearms as we made our way to the E train, and I shook my head at tourists who approached the subway turnstiles like they were about to double dutch.
I found my hands resting on and clutching hand rails just to hold on.
I also found myself nearly exhausting that wee container of purell stashed in my purse.
TASTE
When you're hungry and weary and even feeling small, eat a chicken gyro off the street ... and eat it all.