  almost said hello. this time, it was the New York I've always wanted to visit... If you want to know the truth, I've never been in love with this city...which is why I think the natives think I'm one of them. This is not to say I don't love the city, I'm just not in love with it. You must know there is a difference. I dressed for the evening and headed toward the theatre district...trying, at all costs, to avoid the inevitable throng of tourists along Broadway and pulsing in large globs around Times Square. It's so much easier to just take 8th or 9th down, then cross. I get these headaches when I come here. I think it's due to my constant lack of hydration. I'm terrible at remembering to drink water and such when I am home, and I'm worse when I'm on the road.
This time, however, I remembered to drink lots of it. So much, in fact, that I am in the midst of what I believe to be the most extensive restroom tour of midtown Manhattan. I've made poor beverage choices on past trips. Not that the beverages were of low quality, but rather...it speaks to my inability to stop ordering them when I'm well past... quenched. This trip, I've consumed numerous bottles of water at every turn: in meetings, at parties and even now, as I type this.
The bottle of Volvic gleams pale blue on the table next to me and I am compelled to imbibe. I wake up at 3 in the morning disoriented and cold. The air conditioning has been pouring out all night and the room has chilled down to a frosty 62 degrees. The thin cotton blanket and crisp sheet cannot keep out the cold. I stumble from bed onto the cold hardwood floor and click the AC off. Then, there is the requisite visit to the bathroom...me hungover on water. When you walk here, people don't look at you...much. Except for me on this trip. It seems everywhere I walk, people look and I see glints of recognition and then dismissal...as if they were disappointed I wasn't the celebrity they'd thought. Wandering here, almost twenty people have almost said hello. Tonight, after the theatre, I walked along the sidewalks stuffed with glassy-eyed tourists clutching Playbills and wandering aimlessly along Broadway. Have you ever seen a sidewalk packed like sardines, and if you walk at the seam, between the two opposing sides right where the traffic meets...you can move, rather than wait for the cattle ahead of you. There might be love in this city, but I doubt it. No one looks happy. Not even the pretty people.
Not even the pretty people seem very pretty anymore. Maybe they've just given up. Maybe they're just tired of all the effort it takes being New Yorkers. There is no mystique here...only movement. And that is the one thing that never changes. In the end, she was well behaved and gracious, and for that, I have nothing but thanks. adieu. 
