I really had to practice some self control when I arrived at Laguardia Airport in Queens outside New York City. Super Shuttle took an hour to arrive at the airport. Shame. And the driver was no bargain even with GPS. Shame. He almost left the back door open. I visualized my luggage, strewn across the BQE-Brooklyn Queens Expressway.
I did look to my left and saw soccer players playing under the dark of night lit by powerful lights. What a pleasure.
We took the Kosciusko Bridge into the Lower East Side. Darkness . . . Illusion of brightness in the bright lights.
Back to the driver. He jumped over a stop and had to double back. I really wanted to get in the passenger seat and direct him. We were a few blocks from my hotel so I grabbed up my bags knowing I was a few moments from freedom. I yelled to the driver, “There’s my hotel on the left.”
I jumped out of the van and yelled at the other passengers, “Good luck, ya’all!”
They looked at me like frightened birds, appearing as though their last hope had ejected from the shuttle.
So here I am back in my homeland . . . bright lights, big city . . . Singing a different song having lived in so many places . . . But so quickly returning to the core of my New York self.