Little Brett, Big City

After flipping through the turnstile, I wandered onto the subway platform and put down The World's Heaviest Briefcase. A map attached to yellowed tiles looked like rainbow spaghetti -- so many tangled and color-coded subway lines that went across Manhattan, The Bronx, Queens and Brooklyn. Damn, this town was like its own small country. And one misstep and I would be hurtling under a river to the wrong borough.   As hot as it was in the city, 34th Street felt like a Canadian lakefront road compared to The Gates of Hell down there. The fetid air stank just like that sickly sweet smell up in Penn Station above. Fluorescent lights revealed just enough soot, chips and holes to confirm that the Metropolitan Transportation Authority was low on cash for maintenance.  A guy, a few years older and similarly suited up, came over to me. Wow, was he going to ask me out? "Hey, do you know which train I take to Long Island City?" Oh, guess not. And I thought Long Island was just an isla...

I had learned the hard way I couldn't walk with The World's Heaviest Briefcase to job interviews in New York. I was no match for August humidity and the miles between my room at the Sloane House YMCA and any downtown appointments. The time had come to conquer the New York City subway. I thought I was smart to try it right before noon, beyond the morning rush. But people still bumped into me as I descended tight steps into a hot station. Wearing my new "New Yorker" face, I tried matching their pace but failed. Within seconds, I was an annoyed human pinball, bouncing against shoulders and backpacks.  Hundreds of people raced passed me like it was rush hour anyway. "Directional" signs hung low from dark ceilings, listing Penn Station, the LIRR, New Jersey Transit, and the New York City subway. I didn't understand where they were leading.  I floated over to a grimy token booth. The clerk within was a lone sentinel, aloof to the frenetic energy outside. Cool ...