Last Night I Dreamt of the City

I was fighting my way down Avenue of the Americas, dodging the angry yellow cabs and irate morning drivers, zipping along on my trusty green Cannondale. Sweat-matted hair escaped from the sides of my helmet, annoyingly sticking to my face.

"Beep! Beep!"

"Vroom! Vroom!"

"Honk! Honk!"

I was in the midst of Sixth Avenue's daily pre-work jam.

"Hey, girl -- get out of my #%#^$@ way!" the Fed-Ex guy screamed, spewing obscenities as he unceremoniously cut into my lane, smirking in that 'you're in my space' NYC kind of way.

I inhaled the aftermath of noxious diesel fumes and reminded myself that I was no longer in Kansas (ok, ok -- Bexley, Ohio).

The East Village cockroaches made sure to remind me as well. Nightly, I was treated to their cha-cha-cha serenade, as they scurried out of strategically located, low-lying homes to dance their little jiggalow on my formica counters.

The First Street cockroaches knew not the tact of their Ohio relative, the hissing cicada, and looked with disdain upon the cicada's once per 17-year grand appearance.

These guys made their presence known repeatedly, in brilliantly orchestrated onslaughts, designed to coincide with the setting of the sun, that hour when even the bravest of men find themselves wondering what evils lurk behind the shadows.

Yes my friends, it was the epitome of psychological warfare, a bold and brazen attempt to drive me from hearth and home, even as I struggled (and I did) to maintain my easygoing Midwestern sensibilities.

What can I say? New York, New York it's a wonderful town!

And so, I lift my glass in toast: this one's to the city that never sleeps -- keep visiting my dreams...