NYC

Subways & 26th Av

There she sat in the dim light of the NYC subway, the type of light you wouldn't be caught dead taking selfies in-unless ofcourse you identified as a "creative" in some shape or form. Creativity swelled around her, the mist of hard work tainted the air, and a sense of unfulfilled dreams and aspirations lurked around every corner.

 This was New York City. The city she had dreamed of since she was a child, and it was now before her. She loved the thrill of hopping on trains and believing that she was somehow intertwined with the very foundations of such a great city-that she was a unique part of its story. But, she also hated the whiff of urine that seemed to be waiting to rob innocent strangers of the ability to breathe, how often train routes seemed to be closed, and the confusion she often faced navigating the subway.

Her strides were long, they were confident. A stride that fed off the vibes the city seemed to continuously emit. This foreign land felt like home, like the perfect fit of a fuzzy jumper on a chilly winter night or the fit of your lover's hands around your waist. Except, New York was her lover, and in that moment she strongly believed that if she never ate a thing ever again, she would be satiated with feeding on the energy New York City provided.

The jostle of the cabin brought her back to the present day. A day in which frustrations had only seemed to pile higher and higher. But with each mile the train chugged on, she felt a release; like her troubles were caught up in the draft that could be felt on 26th street. Her Afropop music surged through her headphones, to her: another source of energy. She looked down at her iPhone screen to confirm her fear: she was five hours late for a meet up with "mystery boy" at the 5th Avenue Apple store.

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