New York, I Love You
Downpour Galore
. . . Drip . . . Drip . . . Drip . . .
The steady beating of rain on the roof lulls me into a sleep-like trance. Water pours down the buildings and gushes into the streets. Scattering, people run for cover. Newspapers, umbrellas, and coats shield bodies from the untimely downpour.
Crash!
Dogs howl as thunder drowns the constant hum of traffic in the streets.
“Excuse me, miss?” A quiet voice jerks me back to reality, “Here’s your coffee.” I thank the waiter before tucking back into the novel that I had drifted away from.
Steam rises from my cup of hot coffee, begging me to take my first sip. Knowing the sting of a burn to come, I cautiously bring the cup to my lips, only to set it down a moment later. A hint of a smile lingers at my mouth as I notice a pattern meticulously drawn into the foam. The waiter subtly winks at me as my eyes scan the coffee shop counter. Attention to detail is what sets this coffee shop apart from the many others that litter the streets of Manhattan. From my seat towards the back of the coffee shop, I watch as people walk past. A group of hipsters with their skinny jeans, fedoras, and cool attitude walk in as a punk couple snuggles on the couch by the door. A pair of well-dressed, make-up caked, elderly ladies gossip to my right while their grumpy, teenage grandchildren glare at everyone in sight. A dreadlocked hippie and her dog sit and watch the petering rain on the door step. A trendy man across the room listens to music on his iPod nano, mouthing along with the words. I glance out the open window in time to see a homeless man animatedly conversing with his friendly companion, a giant trash bag.
People are in their own little worlds, but somehow at peace and connected with everyone around them. As the hippie’s dog runs off toward the traffic, a hipster boy doggedly races after him and returns to the shop, runaway puppy in hand. When the elderly ladies leave behind a single, pricey glove, the young punk couple reach out to let them know of their missing treasure. As the trendy man walks out of the shop, he manages to spare a few dollars for the chatty hobo. And just as I get up to make my way into the flooded street, the waiter passes by with a shy smile and slips me a gift card for a free coffee on his next shift.
Only in New York does this free-for-all blend of personalities, cultures, and groups mix with such ease. I love the individuality of every single person who lives in this city. It is an unabashed, brazen slap in the face to all those who judge them. Each and every person I have encountered in New York has never ceased to interest me. Whether it be their style, interests, conversation, or personality, they all seem to possess an inherent love of and passion for expressing their individuality. I think this is why I love New York so much. It’s not just the city itself, but also the people that give this city its natural charm and edge.
New York, I love you.
-Sithara Reddy-
