Last night, I went out to see my friend Whitney play music in the LES. Totally fun! Of course, though, the punishment for having fun late at night is that it takes me like a year to get home. I took the D to the 3 to the 1, relatively painlessly, except for some longish late night wait times. Whatevs.
When the 1 went above ground at 125th St., I saw that the rumored snowstorm was beginning. There was a thick swirl of flakes fluttering outside the train, and things were quickly getting covered in white. At 157th, the train stopped, stayed in the station for a minute, and then pulled out without ever opening the doors. Everyone who had stood up to get off the train was like, “Whyyyyy???” Including me. Come on, MTA, get it together! At 168th, I momentarily debated waiting for a downtown train to bring me back to my stop, but decided to just walk the ten blocks home instead of waiting some stupid amount of time for a train to carry me a distance that I walk like twice a day anyway.
The snow was a serious factor to consider. Would it be beautiful or excruciating to walk ten blocks in snow?
At first, beautiful. Broadway was about as quiet and New York gets, and the snow was mostly undisturbed. Snow really is as quiet as they say, especially when you’re so used to the cacophony of rain in the winter. It was kind of cool getting to make footprints in new snow, before it turns all brown and cityfied. I was walking along thinking, “OK, this is kind of magical.”
But after about five blocks, the beautiful, serene white flakes that had been landing on me were starting to melt, turning into icy water that was seeping through my hat. So, I think I’ve scientifically determined that snow is pretty for five blocks. I’ve also scientifically determined that I should pretty much always be wearing my sleeping bag coat in the winter.
