After the yagé

It’s humid from last night’s summer rain and much earlier than I would normally be up on a Sunday. I’m incredulously eying an impressive network of cardboard scraps duct taped to the sidewalk in an effort to tamp down electrical cords for who-knows-what. It’s this place between inventiveness and absurdity that I love about New York. 

Read More

Cargo

When I run south along the Hudson in the early evening the sinking summer sun blinds me just enough that it’s easier to close my eyes completely and let my feet snap beneath me in a silent vote of confidence. As each step catches in momentary suspension I trust my body to carry me to the next. They say all our suffering is self-created, and in the private dark behind my eyelids my mind turns over the same tired, beaten thoughts.

Read More