March in NYC
The month is now over and, reflecting back on it, I’m feeling more optimistic about New York. It happen simultaneously so fast and so slow. There are so many things to look at everyday, but getting to & from my sublet and living in an apartment where every inch of open wall space will filled with frisbee memorabilia took it out of me.
The other night I took the train over to Bushwick to watch Tongue Depressor play in a dark basement of a bar. They’re a band I’ve been listening to a lot over the years, and whose music feels holy to me. I first saw them in a cabin-like venue surrounded by redwoods in the Santa Cruz mountains. Their music became a bit of a backdrop for Santa Cruz the years to follow and were a big inspiration for Michael and I’s music project Redwood Monastic.
Anyways, after the show, I was taking the subway back up to Harlem. I was heading towards Manhattan from Brooklyn when this guy boards the train - he had a large presence. He was wearing a long black wool coat, draped below his knees, a black beret, and sunglasses (after 10pm, i know right). I usually don’t think berets look cool, they’re super hard to pull off. This guy nailed it though. I wanted to hate the look, but I couldn’t - he looked great.
He didn’t say anything or act too erratically, but as soon as the subway doors closed, everybody except me, got up and moved to the other side of the train. This person look famous - my first thought was, this is Harry Styles, which is funny because I honestly am not even sure what Harry Styles looks like. There was something going on though - he was objectively beautiful - intimidatingly so. He stood across the aisle from me and we kept trading eye contact.
A few stops pass and the train clears out a bit more. The doors closed again near Bedford Ave, and he walked over to me and said, “Where are you hiding the camera, I know you’re a photographer. I’ve been waiting for you to pull it out.” Confused, I was like, “what?” - the entire trip up until that point though, I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera. It was pouring rain. He then said, “I know you’re a photographer, where is it?”. “Well I guess technically speaking I am”, I said. Our conversation continued for a moment about if it was a job or a passion, and a later asked what his job or dedication was. He’s a musician, he said. He’s a kora player.
We talked for a few more minutes like we’re friends who’ve known each other forever - it was strange. I’m not sure I’ve had an experience like this with a complete stranger. The train rolls up to the Union Square stop where I transfer to the 5 train. I got up to leave, and introduced myself more officially. He said, “I know it sounds weird, but I know you from before, and I’ll see you again soon.” I don’t know why but I felt the same way. We didn’t exchange numbers or anything, so it’ll have to be fate that brings it together.
I’ve thought about him quite a bit since. It felt like a met an angel, or something more sinister. It’s weird that, when he entered the train, despite it being relatively empty, everyone around me got up and moved to the other side of the train. I think they felt it too, and something told them that they should leave.
A few days later I moved to Brooklyn. Finally out of the godforsaken sublet - hopeful I never have to see a frisbee again. I have my things again, and am starting to feel comfortable in my surroundings. I’m enjoying the magnolias and cherry blossoms. The clouds feel especially large. The air is still cold. I live next to an Ecuadorian market that sells hard boiled goose eggs behind the counter. The kora player said he doesn’t make it to brooklyn often. There are a lot of rats around, but I don’t think they’ll make it inside. Two interior walls in my apartment are brick - it feels classically metropolitan. Light is spilling in from the window I’m typing this next to. Ever planter and patch of soil has daffodils emerging from it.
Spring is bringing light back into my life and angels are watching over me.
