New York Confessions: I Love the City's Texture

I'm like a little kid who sees the forbidden fruit of "NO" as all the more reason to indulge.  On the subway platform, a thick yellow line indicates that you're supposed to stand back, to allow that dead space to exist between you and the rushing train as it approaches.  If color isn't a powerful enough deterrent, most platforms have hundreds of round hemispheres either sunken into or growing out of the cement in this yellow no man's land, allowing your feet can feel the difference between the safe zone and the (highway to the) danger zone.*

I always stand in the yellow zone.  No matter what shoes I'm wearing, I can feel the ridges under my feet, and for some reason, I like it.**

The same goes for the subway grates on the sidewalk, which feel like walking on metal waffles. Unless I'm wearing heels, I usually opt to walk over them, maybe just for the thrill of not "falling through," which so many people claim as a true fear of city walking.

Of course, at times, this practice gives a little thrill to everyone around - that is, in those moments when I'm wearing a dress, a subway goes by underneath, and I end up giving my best Marilyn Monroe impression (which, admittedly, is horrendous).

*They operate much like the grooves on the shoulder of the highway that wake up a sleepy driver with a horrendous noise (which my family affectionately used to call "road farts").
**A metaphor for my life?  Perhaps.***
***Nah; I only wish I was so adventurous.

This avian visitor hung out at the Nostrand stop.