New-New York City | Chronicles Of The Young Immigrant Women

Another day walking in the empty and new New York city. I know all corners of Gramercy and the face of every worker in my favorite-bad-deli, just as they know my type of Tuesday bagel. I never really asked their names and I wonder if knowing it would’ve made my chest feel any better when I passed by their closed doors– I don't think so. No apocalyptical movie could guess how sad Manhattan would look like without certain stores and faces. I wandered through the avenues in no rush and there was absolutely no one bumping me. No one to send to hell. In the platform, there was no tourists looking down&up&right&left -all at the same time- to send to hell. There was no me, not a single angry-me, realizing that the hell was being in this station during rush hour. Because the only me standing there was the one surprised that, the hell itself is an empty train smelling like Clorox during rush hour. I didn't know it was possible to feel sad about good sanitation. To me, the scariest part of my life almost-post Corona, is realizing how much I loved the messy, ugly, city of the not-yet-stars. Lonely hearts are now behind masks (as they should) and the fact that I can't tell who's happy and who's sad is taking away from me the magic of my rides home; where I could create many stories just by looking around. Stories that I would write later on during my Tuesday break at my favorite-bad-deli. Thinking that I might never experience again the exact city I chose to live in, is bittersweet. However, I've no doubts the city is improving and that New Yorkers can and will adapt wonderfully to the distance–– by finding new reasons to send people to hell. Corona is silent but its consequences are yelling at me every time I walk out there. I usually yell back. But there's no one to be mad at. This is a type of yell back: a mediocre chronicle that should've been typed in a keyboard full of crumbs of the most horrible bagel in Gramercy. Though I'm ending it in hopes that I'll find a way to read through the masks.