Day 123: I’m Never Going To Get Sick Of This Balcony
I decided to write on the new balcony. This is because the balcony exists and it’s there for the direct purpose of my enjoyment. I genuinely don’t care how cold it is. This balcony is my home now. And I have a feeling that we’re going to be fast friends.
When we decided to move to Queens, I was afraid of having to find a new Nothing Space. A place nearby where I can be outside and still alone. While I once considered my sanctuary to be the laundromat parking lot, my new one is connected to my damn apartment. You can’t get more convenient than that. I dare you to try. You can’t. Bliss is just a sliding glass door away.
Although I am alone, there’s still a lot to see and hear. In fact, it’s an organized jungle out here. I can hear footsteps shuffle heavily on the sidewalk below. The traffic driving carefully and slowly on the street. The wind rustling the bare tree branches gracefully. The sound of some bus hydraulics hissing. The faint ding of the closing doors as the subway station, followed by the train barreling north and south, right in front of my face.
There’s an awful lot going on at rush hour. I see those trains roll by frequently, all sparsely populated. They’re on their way to shuttle people around Manhattan. A kid sits in the window and waves at me. I wave back as he goes speeding by. On the other side of the tracks, a family is cooking dinner. A vacant apartment next to it has had back-to-back tours. They seem impressed, but turned off by the train tracks. Maybe they’ll be my new neighbor. Maybe they’ll watch me cook dinner or put my feet up after a long day. Or maybe it’ll stay empty the whole time, as they’re unable to sell such rumble-happy real estate.
At the flip of a switch, Manhattan puts its makeup on. We don’t get much, but we get a piece of the Chrysler Building, Empire State, World Trade and a few hideous Midtown Dildo Rises. There’s also the blinking red lights of the candy-striped smoke stacks that greet Roosevelt Island. As I wrote that, the Empire State Building started pulsing red. It glows rhythmically, exactly like a heartbeat. The symbolism is disgustingly thick.
I know I’m going to spend a lot of time just sitting here, watching the lights twinkle, thinking about the sandwich I just had. I’ve spent the last decade trying to find the perfect place. The one that only a few of us know about, with a limited yet unique view and an added bonus for rail fanning. I’ve found a few in my day, but they were all off the beaten path, far away from home. It would take an all-day Ventch to find those places. Now it’s right here. At home.
I don’t know how I got so lucky.