The clocks changed here last night, so I'm now even further behind home time. The empty beer can and plantain packet jeer at me from a shelf of Americana knickknacks. I wrap up a bleary conference call, shower and pack.
At the west end of the 7 line I meet Donna, husband & youngest daughter. I last saw Donna in 1984. Think about that for a minute. Or two. I know I have.
We walk the Highline, a rescued elevated railroad, planted with beds and paved in wooden pedestrian walkway. It's a major Sunday outing. Semi-park, semi-industrial, totally urban. And you get to look through other people's 2nd floor windows.
We eat brunch at a smart hotel restaurant. Bloody Marys with a thick sludge of partially crushed black pepper and a dollop of horseradish (which is a new essential to me). We eat mainly egg dishes (organic of course) - rancheros, poached, baked.
Then it's time, once again, to head to an airport. A half hour stroll down 7th to Penn station, and a short train ride back to Newark. Light relief was this time provided by the NJ Transit ticket barriers that had decided to blow a fuse, stranding an ever growing crowd of passengers on both sides. They eventually jimmied a couple open and we trickled through to continue our fractured journeys.
The flight to Charlotte is uneventful. I collect a hire car. My Airbnb host is at work, but the key is under the mat. Ayrsley is a suburb of Charlotte, a cross between a housing estate and a mall. There are restaurants and parked cars but no people. I preferred the Bronx. I must sleep.