The subway stop near the Hispanic Society museum was too spooky for me to wait in alone (never a good feeling when you get off at a stop and your instinct is to run), so I asked how to find a bus that would take me back downtown. The guy at the museum told me which one was the fastest, "But you should take the M-5, because it's a prettier route," he said.
He was right, I loved that long bus ride through Harlem, down Riverside Drive, along Broadway. I loved seeing neighborhoods change, watching people come and go. How often do you get to take a bus and feel happy that it's taking forever to reach its destination? Or not even care what the destination is at all? It was the unfolding feeling I'd longed for, the feeling of having time to explore the city, to live like I lived on the cover of the New Yorker.
When I was on that bus, passing neighborhoods and people, tall buildings and city lights, I remembered the dream I had last spring. Alone on a city bus, in a deep state of bliss...
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