on the outside

An irony of life in New York: You spend a lot of time outside here.

City life seems like it would be lived indoors, especially in the dead of winter. And yet. I find myself outside, but not the outside I grew up with.

Outside, I have to go to a park to find grass.

Outside, in a wintry mix, it is not long before I wish I were inside.

Outside, it’s people, all the time, everywhere. Even on a deserted street: There’s one figure walking to or from me. If no one’s around, they will be soon enough.

Outside, a fair amount of those people act like they are inside.

Outside, I am going to witness something, every time. A argument on the street corner about who called whom a clown. A man holding a woman who is crying outside a restaurant. A person who’s been living in a station wagon on Smith St. now for 2 months rearranging his strange collection of raggedy belongings. You cannot look away. And if you do, there’s more.

Outside, most people (including me) are going somewhere. It is always always movement and intention.

Outside, it might be a while before you get back inside, so it’s good to be prepared. People carry large and assorted bags for what I assume is this reason.

Outside, good days and bad days are made, both in about equal numbers. And what happens to you out here you carry with you all day long, inside and out. So be prepared.