I have been in New York for a full year, and failed to blog about it once. Today, I change that.
Last night, I was at dinner with my fencing team at an amazing restaurant in TriBeCa. I ate to the point of gluttony, and was continually fed more. I was pleased. Afterwards, I went to a friend's place in the Financial District. Around 1 am, I left for home. I entered the Fulton Street subway station and found my way to the A-C line platform. I waited for a late night local A train. As I continued waiting, I learned from an MTA employee that the train should generally be less than ten minutes away. I checked my phone for the time uncomfortably frequently.
Upon entering the subway car, my first thought was "This smells like piss." I disregarded the thought as hyperbolic. Upon scanning my surroundings, I observed two homeless gentlemen sleeping at different points in the car. One had four black trash bags of possessions. The other had one red pushcart. I then noticed a gleaming trail of dried liquid on the floor. Looking at it for a bit, I noticed a clear yellow tint. I pushed the thought from my mind.
I noticed the train's agonizingly slow pace. It picked up a bit at Canal Street, and slowed once more along the journey.
I was ready to get off the train just before my stop at West 4th Street. I noticed that the man with the trash bags was waking up. He stood shortly before I did. I thought for a moment.
I walked over to the man. I said to him, "I'm Josh. I don't carry much cash with me, but I have this." I extended my hand, holding out a one dollar bill. He waved me off. "Take it." He refused again, almost violently. I backed off.
The doors of the subway opened. I left, and reentered my world of safety, the cocoon surrounding NYU that is known as "Greenwich Village."
This may be a quintessentially New York experience. I pass a man sleeping on subway vents on Greene Street between West 4th Street and Washington Place every few days. But this hit me today, for whatever reason.
I've met famous, interesting and brilliant people this year. I've attended cultural events, taken innovative classes, lived without a care. I have a room full of clothes, and books, and food, and a bed, and a personal bathroom. I sit and worry about how many minutes I'll need to wait for a train. In the meantime, there are two men sleeping in a subway car.
As I was first getting to TriBeCa, coming off an E train at Canal Street, I heard the public address system blare, "The next, and last, stop for this train is World Trade Center." Instantly, my phone started pumping 911 AM by MC Lars through my headphones while in "shuffle mode." This crazy random happenstance reminded me of how resilient New York City can be, and how well New Yorkers can work together for the benefit of all. In the week that the Freedom Tower has become the tallest building in the city, New York's potential and strength is on display.
Last night, I had a dream. Metaphorically, of course. I dreamt of a world in which we actually work to help one another. A world in which cries for help are answered by our collective efforts, going by the name of "Government." I imagined something even better than what John Lennon did decades ago.
Upon waking, I hear counter-productivity. I hear conservatives arguing against helping others and working together, claiming that the poor simply wish for handouts and charity. I've clearly seen that this is far from the case. I hear the reverberations of lefties occupying Wall Street, Washington Square, Union Square, Madison Square and everything in between during "May Day." These people protest the government which maintains the parks and streets they occupy, the universities which teach them the political and philosophical ideologies they espouse. These seemingly shortsighted perspectives pose a threat to our future.
Two men are sleeping on a subway car.




