An Open Door

It is done. Past trips have scratched the surface, querying conversations found the edges; friends, family and ex-pat Californians have given hints on the location of the lock, key, handle. The city herself shares hints of Los Angeles - those perhaps only an Angelino could recognize. With patience, sweetness and ruthless abandon, I have cracked New York City. The door is open. I walk her city streets as tourist no longer. As traveler, adventurer, explorer, artist, creator.

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Subway errands. My favorite fluevogs lost a heel the first day I arrived, but I didn't notice until yesterday morning. Instead of wearing them, I put them in a bag (along with my dry cleaning) as I walked out the door in the morning. Before the subway, I dropped of my dry cleaning (which will be delivered to my apartment!), after work, I subwayed to SoHo/Little Italy to fix my fluevogs. Picked up the heels from Fluevog, then hoofed it to the cobbler before he closed. Later, walking up 6th Avenue, passing a wine store, to another subway stop, catching a train home. The intertwined subway line webs. No backtracking necessary.