Two Years in New York (Michael Mohr's "fictional memoir" chapter 3)
michaelmohr.substack.com
*Please consider a paid subscription :) Chapter 3 Three weeks later—mid April—the weather warmed. The wind calmed. It was sunny and bright most days (with some minor fog) and not yet humid. In the past I’d always visited the city in summer. I liked this time of year much better: Fewer tourists; less humidity. I started to get the lay of the land. I’d walk west down 103rd Street to Lexington and catch the local 6 train (it took me a while to figure out the difference between the “local” train and the “express” which skipped stops and aimed right at the goal). The subway experience was still a bit like being on a Disneyland ride to me, that warm rush of air from the tracks; the harsh twisting and curving around turns; screeching of metal wheels on rails; the darkness underground. It had a mystique to it. It reminded me of The Matterhorn ride. For locals I knew it was just another day, another grind, another bumpy ride to work.
Two Years in New York (Michael Mohr's "fictional memoir" chapter 3)
Two Years in New York (Michael Mohr's…
Two Years in New York (Michael Mohr's "fictional memoir" chapter 3)
*Please consider a paid subscription :) Chapter 3 Three weeks later—mid April—the weather warmed. The wind calmed. It was sunny and bright most days (with some minor fog) and not yet humid. In the past I’d always visited the city in summer. I liked this time of year much better: Fewer tourists; less humidity. I started to get the lay of the land. I’d walk west down 103rd Street to Lexington and catch the local 6 train (it took me a while to figure out the difference between the “local” train and the “express” which skipped stops and aimed right at the goal). The subway experience was still a bit like being on a Disneyland ride to me, that warm rush of air from the tracks; the harsh twisting and curving around turns; screeching of metal wheels on rails; the darkness underground. It had a mystique to it. It reminded me of The Matterhorn ride. For locals I knew it was just another day, another grind, another bumpy ride to work.