On rainy days in New York City, men sell umbrellas for five dollars on the pretty, colorful sidewalks of Manhattan. Shoppers leave the expensive stores on 5th avenue and beggars sleep near tall roofs, under the sound of thunderstorms. But the city never sleeps; the city never dies.
As I observe the city in between water droplets, I find myself enjoying the rain. I find myself happy, despite the fact that I’m stepping into many puddles of dirty water with my flip flops. I find myself liking a rain that I most often hate. Could it be that I’m immune to my usual dislikes once I’m in the city?
I bid the wet city au revoir and gather my belongings to head back to Virginia. There is only one thing on my mind: I’m coming back, even in the pouring rain…
One day, when I’m ready, when I’m over my fears and doubts, one day when the roads are clear, I’ll pack a suitcase and I’ll head to the city. If I’m still in love with it, I’ll stay. I’ll unpack and I’ll sleep under the sound of running engines and the guitar that the poor man plays on the street.
I’ll sleep while rain pours outside in a sleepless, restless city.