Morning Commute

Terrorists threaten the subways of New York. That sucks.

But, selfishly, it won't ruin my day. Because most days, barring heavy rain or snowstorm, I get on my bike and ride. And save those four dollars there and back.

Every morning, I hate getting out of bed. I pound down two cups of coffee just to get my eyes open, throw myself in the shower, and get dressed. Probably much like every other New Yorker. Just out of bed, and already thinking out the details of the day, making lists, remembering all those details: Phone calls, emails, packages to send out, reservations to make, yadda yadda. The banalities that make up life.

But then, I kiss my girl goodbye, and I'm out the door. And things start to look up. Because I head down to the basement, and unlock my bike. Carry it one flight up to the lobby and out the front door. And now, I am ready.

I look at the sky, check the wind, look for oncoming traffic, and I'm off. Morning excercise doubling handily as my commute. With the flow of traffic West on Delancey - across Grand, left on Lafayette, right on Howard, and hop the curb at Broadway, dismount. Seven minutes, tops.

And when the elevator doors open, I roll to my desk, awake and ready.

While my coworkers grunt monosyllabically at each other "How are you?" "Grunt." "Good Morning!" "Grunt." My brain is ready for the fresh perspectives of the day. My best thouhgts, shaken lose by my quick transit and raised heart rate, tumble out of my now limber mind. If I have writing to do, or some serious reading and analysis, there is no better time than that first hour of the morning when I am quick, and they are slow.