It feels so good to fall into spanish during the most banal conversations. Just now I heard the cab driver call his dispatcher to see how much a ride from Prospect Heights to Greenpoint would be. When it was the same price he quoted me, I was ecstatic for some reason. It’s probably really cynical to feel overcome with joy when someone doesn’t cheat you, but I was. It felt as though the stars had aligned. I told the driver to stop “en la esquina.” I could walk from here. “Cuanto Sale?” I asked. “Diecisiete,” he said. I gave him three dollars extra and smiled all the way home.
Hell I still Love you New York. That’s why I’m moving back.
Advertisement
