The PATH train arrives at its 33rd Street stop. The doors slide open. People slither out. Treading up the crowded platform, we are made to pass through stainless-steel turnstiles. I hate touching skin to steel, preferring to push the mechanism over with the forward motion of my legs. Almost as though the turnstiles aren't there.
Today, the gentlest sunshine is replaced by relentless rain. The sound of great waves rising along rocky shores is replaced by jack hammers and angry street noise and other wasteful stupid, stupid shit.
Four Thursdays have powered up and cooled down since this year's Home Entertainment Show in Los Angeles, and I'm still reading the show reports. Beyond that, I'm enjoying them more and more. This is a good sign, I realize. I'm enjoying the reports more because they're making more sense to me. The language is becoming a part of me.