Some 5.6 million people are expected to leave the New York Metropolitan area for the Fourth of July. Our own anecdotal survey shows that most New Yorkers can't stand to waste a chance to "get out of the city." We wish them well in their frantic sojourn to the elusive, ephemeral idea of Relaxation.
To celebrate our chance to live in a city that's not teeming with humanity, we penned a poem for the occasion.
Duane Reade tumbleweed
Blow down the vacant avenue where
Sandals ground Muji bags into asphalt ghosts.
Barista take my change, bouncer wave me in
To empty playgrounds where my mind has room to stumble.
Lonely Metrocard machines tip their caps,
And the velvet rope of silence keeps friends out and thoughts in.
Repeat that bloated playlist,
Open your bag of lime-flavored corn chips.
I'll soon be gone, but not where you think.
