Little Brett, Big City

The check-in desk for The Sloane House YMCA was burrowed off of an otherwise large and dim lobby, interrupted by thick support columns. The attendants were busy, so I leaned my two bags against one of the columns, looking back every 15 seconds to make sure they were still there. I held on to The World's Heaviest Briefcase. I nodded when one attendant said, "Next."  "I would like to check in," I said, pretending to myself I had an actual reservation -- even though I was told they didn't take them when I had called a few weeks ago. I carried my membership card to the Miami County YMCA of Ohio in my wallet to help make my case if needed.  "Yep, just a minute," she answered, stepping out of sight.  I exhaled my relief. I was not going to be turned away at the inn.  The attendant returned to take my only credit card in exchange for a copy of the house rules.  "You can only stay here 25 consecutive days. Beyond that, the city considers you an illega...

  The fluorescent tubes in Penn Station’s underbelly did a piss-poor job of lighting the platform. Stepping off of the train was like stepping into a dungeon. A dank, smelly dungeon that oxygen forgot.    Dazed, I followed the crowd to claim our luggage being stacked against a wall. My spindly arms struggled with my three bags, but no one helped as they sprinted to the escalator up to street level.    After my own wobbly ascent, I was belched up into the cavernous waiting room, moored by yards of grimy tile and the smell of burnt cheese and old caramel corn.  My head spun as I tried to get my bearings and find an exit, any exit. I stopped under the huge departures board in the middle of the room, finally spying a sign for 8 th Avenue in a far corner. Good enough. I picked up my bags again.      But then the PA system announced the track for the next New Jersey Transit train.  Hundreds of people suddenly woke fro...

  As our train pulled into Philadelphia, I saw rhinos at the zoo next door before we slid in the dark station. The minutes dragged on and on as they switched out engines. Waiting for a doctor in an emergency room took less time. I rocked in my unforgiving seat and, for the first time, thought about abandoning my mission to conquer New York.   After finally leaving Philly, our frequency of stops increased in familiar-sounding towns: Bryn Mawr, Princeton, Trenton, Newark.   I knew we entered the zone when a trio of teen girls bopped into the car, giggling and talking excitedly about their upcoming night in the city. Shit just got real. My low-grade nausea detonated into chest-pounding fear. I kept watching out the window, searching for more signs.   The train banked to the right, opening up my view. Sunlight glinted off of metal far in the distance. A closer look through August haze revealed jagged spikes poking the air. There. There she is. The Manhattan skyline, baki...