One of the small luxuries I allow myself now that I am making a living wage is the occasional taxi. Having the option to bail on the subway from time to time has made me less immune to its elusive charms - I firmly believe that there is no better way to know this city than to walk its streets and ride its subway. During the protracted period of time when I was financially strapped (i.e., my twenties), hailing a cab when I was tired or sick or fed up was completely out of the question. Instead, I hauled my sorry ass onto the subway like every other schmoe in New York City, suffering through unintelligible "service updates", sweltering heat, long waits, packed cars, Pentacostal preachers, exhibitionists, infrequent bathers, surly baby mamas, men who take up two seats so their balls can spread, child breakdancers, homeless people, drunk teenagers barfing into their bags, baffled tourists, and illegal immigrants slumped over with fatigue. Sometimes there is such a thing as too much humanity.
But then there are moments of pure inspiration: the Cuban guy with a voice as clear and true as a church bell playing Perfidia on his guitar, the three Hasidic kids who spontaneously burst into Yiddish pop, the African dudes who gave a drum demonstration while balancing through winding tunnels. And then there are the off-handed gestures of kindness: the man who wordlessly swiped his metrocard for me when I couldn't find my own, the guy in the beautiful suit who held all of my packages while I struggled with my camera, the woman who gave up her seat for me and walked me to work when I nearly fainted on the train. In a small town these sorts of gestures are woven into the fabric of quotidian life, but in New York they are little gifts we give each other to sweeten the deal. They are the moments when I feel most connected to this city, when I feel most privileged to live here.
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