Winter day in New York

I get up early when it is still so dark outside you have to check twice to make sure you are not waking up at 2 in the morning. It is snowing but it is not sticking up on the ground, there are only a few patches of ice threatening you on the two blocks from the building to the subway. I stop at Starbucks in the corner and line up behind the policeman ordering coffee for three of his partners and the jewish man talking about the absolute importance of seeing Harry Potter so he can tell his daughter when he gets to Israel three days from today for what seems a pretty important religious occasion. The barista always checks on me to see if my capuccino is heavy enough, he is so nice that I never have the heart to tell him it is getting lighter every day. On the way from Forest Hills to 49th in Manhattan on the local R train you can see people from every country and speaking in every language. There is the girl always with a prayer book moving her lips while she prays all the way to Queens Plaza. There are the school kids noisy and unruly speaking in that kind of english I can not begin to understand getting off at Woodhaven Boulevard. There are the sad chinese and korean women always looking down to the floor with the infinitely empty look of the people that don't expect any surprises from life, resigned to their destiny. There are the ecuadorians always with some hint of their nationality on them: the local paper, the soccer team hat, the jacket with the Ecuador flag.

And then the singers that get on Lexington, with a mexican corrido, asking for some change. There are the two russian women sitting in front of each other speaking very loudly protected by the knowledge on this car of the train we are all latinos.

I'm waiting outside the Opera with people wearing suits and beautiful dresses waiting to hear the beautiful notes of la boheme, but I already started my day with music and I only hope I can get the mexican corrido out of my head by the second act

Early in the morning there are many construction workers and just a few office workers. Lunch boxes, tool boxes and baseball hats are the uniform.

When I get off half way to my office in 49th street I step into the parallel world that is Manhattan to me. I walk to 51st and 5th and circling around a big truck blocking the pedestrian street leading to the Christmas Tree I almost hit three camels waiting to be led somewhere in Rockefeller Center. Of course, no one pays attention to the camels, there doesn't seem to be anything unexpected about that sight.

Getting back in the subway I take out my book and looking around see the usual suspects in people's hands:  Patterson, Steel, one Brown, Kafka and even one Nabokov. There should be something like a mandatory book shuffle in the subway cars, so everybody gets out with a different book, I hope I'm lucky enough to not end up with the Steel though.

The african preachers are out in the cold when I get out at Whitehall street. They yell out the truth of their people, there is always a couple of black guys at least that stop and listen.

At lunch time when I go out the street is filled with the smell of the food trucks, to my amazement there is always a line to buy food there. It is very cold outside and the army of black coats moves around heads down, hands in pockets. The occasional cheetah print coat walks slowly as if trying to break the monotony on purpose.

From my window on the 48th floor, I can see the gorgeous sunset on the skycrapers midtown, the orange and red tint glides on the Empire state and the subway off Canal Street shines like a golden snake crossing over to the big island. The rooftops are still white with snow and in a few minutes the night falls and the ligths of the cars going up Broadway are a red river touching the top of the buildings, moving slowly and disappearing on the horizon that starts in Central park.

I take the number 1 and in 20 minutes I'm waiting outside the Opera with people wearing suits and beautiful dresses waiting to hear the beautiful notes of La Boheme, but I already started my day with music and I only hope I can get the mexican corrido out of my head by the second act