Waking up elsewhere (again)

I woke this morning at The Bowery hotel in New York, not in a panic, but more dazed and confused 5.5 hours sleep and miles to go and the initial flush of where am I and why? Senator Byrd, who was in critical condition when I went to bed late, is dead. It seems that every time I check into this hotel, someone is dead the next day. This is where I was staying when mom died November 30th last year.

I drew the curtains and stared groggily out a the landscape; the typical New York buildings crowding each square inch, but this view is different, it is into the backyards of all the buildings – there is a large rectangular yard of grass barely used it appears, a broad canopied tree squished into the interstitial of two buildings, sun sneaking in the cracks of structure. New York might be more foreboding in its soft spots rather than the roar of the street.

Last night, late, I arrived to the restaurant crowded, the bar and lounge area peopled, and I snuck upstairs and tucked myself away up in my solitary room, away from the madding crowd.

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