When the winds of change blow you to New York City, they seem to stop there. There is stillness. I had expected these gusts to propel me through my days with force and purpose. The most I feel of this kind is the cacophonous sweep of dust and wind before a subway arrives at the station. It pushes me away and I feel more alive for pushing it back.
The days pass slowly for the most part without importance. This city has no need or want for another to join its flocks. Sometimes you see someone, or talk to someone who is looking to be moved or molded into who they came here to be, and you are thankful.
There's a place in the west village that I visited the first time I came to New York. I went last night for the second time in a week. It is a place for me to remind myself of the dream of New York. Many go to tourist sights like Times Square or The Statue of Liberty to remind themselves of the feeling or of the dream of the feeling of being a New Yorker. This place I like to visit, it's dodgy and crowded. It's a cheap bar/jazz club. This is like an oasis of calm for me and stepping into the dimly lit blue basement is like feeling the gusts in the subway, the wind that blew me here, finally push me forward.
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