An's Bad Day

Good day:

During this summer, I traveled to New York City several times. My favorite trip was my second time in NYC, after I had gotten a bit more used to the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. I spent most of the day walking around East Village and in Central Park with my friends. At night, we went to a nice restaurant on Broadway.

Bad day:

New York had changed drastically since I last visited. I noticed the change first in East Village, as the kind of faint nagging sensation when a dream reveals something to you without any evidence. I couldn't admit it to myself until I entered Central park and it was confirmed beyond all doubt.

I was alone. The city to me is an escape; a way to lose myself in the anonymity brought by the solipsistic crowds. Interactions were less than superficial. I didn't have to deal with the stress of forming an identity. Maybe I could have noticed the change sooner, but I was too intent on escaping.

In Central Park though I was forced to confront the-- the thing. I went up to a shady-looking-enough guy, trench coat, fedora, the whole nine yards. I wanted to score some L for a party in a few days. In my town quality weed is hard to come by. I approached him cautiously and muttered under my breath, "Selling?" He looked up from the brim of his fedora. I saw my own face staring back at me.