Left El Museo today at 7 pm, and the sky was perfect blue, no blemishes. Just the sky, the water and The City.
I'm really not a fan of cities. The crush of people, most of them barely conscious, gives me anxiety. The air is generally unpleasant, road fumes mixed with carbon monoxide, sewer ventage and particulates, with the occassional wiff of dumster or dog shit. The traffic of crazies who can barely stay on the road and make it dangerous to cross at crosswalks when I've got the signal. I've handed out my share of single finger salutes. Then there's all the factors that I know but are more invisible, the actual cost of upkeep, the crumbling infrastructure, the bad schools and homeless veterans, the plutocrats up in their towers looking down.
Tonight it was different. I stepped out into the cool and sound of wind from the water, the sun setting behind the skyscrapers. The edge of the world was a rainbow from red to blue, and then blue all the way to the zenith. The blue was reflected in the towers and for a few minutes it really felt like something out of those futuristic novels, where the cities are clean paradises of the pinnacles of knowledge and humanity. It was one of those almost beautiful moments, where something that feels so dirty and ugly for so long takes on a glimmer as it grows on you, as you see it day after day and come to treasure it out of familiarity. Because the details become that much clearer with that constant attention. The blue silver of steel, the sheen of windows, the browns and tans and grays of brick and concrete. Like a human recreation of pillared fields of icelandic lava and tinted hills. The stench lessens, the people receed. Just a person and The City, a huge manufactured creature, nearly biological. The wind blows; The City breathes.