soundslikenyc:

Knees up against my chin I am watching the cigarette smoke curl, fade into the deep purple of the cloudy sky. The after-thunder smell lingers, trapped between concrete. The small plot of park across the street holds in the moisture, so that the dirt and the new plant fragrance contrasts with the pee and garbage of the streets. Looking out unto the fire escape I wonder how many other people are watching out of their windows. My neighbors have curtains drawn but I still see the muffled blue light of their TV, the six o clock news. There are Christmas lights on some of the root tops, gardens and benches people have set up on their sanctuary platforms high above the crowded streets. I hardly see anyone up there, and I wish that I could access my own roof and stare at where the stars should be. Look down to all the other buildings, the park, the shops, and off in the distance the very tip of the empire state building reminds us all we are in new york city.
However you would not need the hint, new york is palpable here. It is in the music of the cars speeding down the narrow street, the graffiti churches and the landlords sipping brown bags on the stoop. The Mexican mariachi of the workers trying to pump life back into this 1890’s brownstone. The rambling guitar of homeless black man and his dog, hiding in the corner near an unoccupied store front. The clack of heels and gentle jingle of bracelets on a hipster as she passes towards the bars on the other side of tompkins square park.
My own city existence is squeezed in the few hundred square feet of this apartment. Worn into the wood of the kitchen and living room and the tile of our cramped bathroom. There is not a lot but it is enough for us. To have our beers and joints and smoke our cigarettes on the decaying fire escape. To watch out of this portal window into a life constantly changing. We get our news from the people on the street, when Michael Jackson dies his music drifts up from the passing cards. When a storm is on the way the trees flip open their leaves and the wind whistles through the hallways. When it is gay pride weekend there are rainbows hanging from the storefronts, when there is political upset there are protestors in the park.
There is never quite a city like new york in the summer. Maybe it is the heat frying us all into oblivion. We are like the cherry of my cigarette, bright and burning for just a moment, before our smoke snakes and curls into the summer night.