Passing // Scenes from New York City

New York is a city where everything happens to always be in exactly the right place
At exactly the right time
It’s an incredible phenomenon that is easy to overlook
Of course sometimes you might notice a bike messenger drifting effortlessly past
But probably not the candle stowed away in her bag
The one that is mixed with just the right blend of bergamot
And cardamon
And whatever it might mean to have ozonic notes in its floral sensibilities
It won’t be immediately obvious that not too long ago she was in an overfilled fragrance store That you do not know about
Or that soon enough she will be in some drooping entryway that you will likewise never pass through
So it will be impossible for you to see the relieved satisfaction of that entryway’s rather eclectic custodian
Or to know exactly why he has developed such a particularly refined distaste
For the scent of whatever it is that can be remedied only with bergamot and cardamom and ozonic notes in floral sensibilities
But it is this custodian
(And really all the messengers)
That I think of when the sun tucks itself away into this afternoon corner of the city
Casting a patient muted glimmer across each road
Letting us all know that we are in exactly the right place
At exactly the right time.