Best run (Sept. 25) since I don’t know when. There is something about the fall. 62 degrees Fahrenheit, the AWAKE! LED clock bleeds as I climb the grade on the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan, dodging the inevitable throngs of tourists, in a mood to forgive them their inattentiveness to both runners and cyclists, intent as they (the tourists) are at getting photos of the Freedom Tower – oh no, WTC 1, as the bureaucrats would have it – but by the tone of the near-genuflecting gentry on the bridge I’d say it’s Freedom made Sacred, how solemn-appearing are the picture takers of the tower before their dark tourism visit to the September 11 Museum.
And on, feeling no pain, quite the contrary as light on my feet as I can remember (thanks Eddy! Foot Freedom!), mind alert, spirit lifted, struck (to wit, drawn particular attention to) by the super-size fancy-pants strollers of Tribecistanis; my favorite ironic T shirt, a skinny girl exercise-walking in an oversize “Viva La Revolucion” (as in fresh from the Bolivian jungle, Sandinista chic, del Blasio for mayor), just short of the Christopher Street Pier, forty-five minutes from Brownstone Brooklyn, five minutes shaved from my twenty-miler eleven days earlier, all is well, water up, and return, the northern view of the Freedom Tower (Yay!) and on, the pro-lookalike tennis teacher, sitting on a park bench, waiting on his obscenely high hourly rate student(s), and later, near City Hall Park, a suit on the phone overheard saying “I wouldn’t think that we can adjust the hourly rate” and close to home, overheard conversation from a construction crew, working on the Whole Foods development at Third Street and Third Avenue, speaking, I swear to God, joual!
Eighteen days and counting until Steamtown ...
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