Ye Morning Commute

It’s a wonderful kind of feeling when seemingly fragmented aspects of daily life congregate into a harmonious, artful weave of fortunate happenstance. At one point you may be stepping out of the car in a crowded lot, paying the cab fare, nodding a ‘thank you’ to the bus driver, flawlessly flowing through turnstiles at the subway exit, yet at another you may be sitting at a ‘private workspace’ on the third floor of a public library, working on a novel or checking the morning headliner on NYTimes.com. What ultimately grants coherence and concinnity—maybe—to these individual snippets of weekday matinée are the (themselves de-synchronized) simple gifts of walking into a café and having the good lady recognize you with “So what kind of tea will it be this morning?”—just for kicks, she knows it’s Earl Grey on Thursdays—and proceeding to fill a medium cup with a tea bag and hot water to the brim—she also knows it’s “No room, thanks.” every day—then strolling over to the library, where the front-desk workstudy student will say “Good morning. How’s the writing coming along?” and you will respond “I hit a block a few days go, but it’s going well.” and everything just falls perfectly into a fractal space of both incongruity and utter harmony. These are the moments I live for.