Brett took me out to explore Brooklyn on Sunday. I first arrived in New York after dark, and the city loomed over me, alien and menacing. I was scared to leave the hostel, but anxious to explore. I sat on the stairs of the the NYC guesthouse, waiting for my guide and friend, too intimidated to wander from the steps without him.
The day's itinerary was vastly aimless, but we made sure to visit Prospect Park and Bergen Street Comics. While the company was amazing and the day well spent, a lunch at a local Thai place set a precedent for mediocracy that would follow me into the next day. Parting ways in the rain, and getting on the subway for the first time, I manage to get a little lost and home a little late, but by the time I did, Brooklyn seemed more manageable, less labyrinthine.
A couple from the Netherlands check in and are amazed at how "spacious" and "elegant" the Guesthouse is, much to the amusement of the other tenants. One said tenant is a girl from the HackerDojo hackerspace in Mountainview, CA. We both intend to visit the NYC Resistor this Thursday.
I stay up too late the night before my internship and set an alarm for 5:30am. I have no interest fighting my way through a rush for the shower, and I need to give myself time to potentially get lost on my first trip to Manhattan.
Chirping birds, sunshine, and no alarm. The clock says 7am and I dive-roll from my top bunk. I slept in my clothes, unbrushed curls a tangle of flyaways and frizz from the day before. My phone has not been charging. I race into the subway, grab a metro card, and dash between the closing doors of train G. The sliding door sans merci eats my shoulder, and my phone dies.
Despite this, I find the address for Larry's Band. It is an unmarked staircase behind a barred door in the Theatre District. A Jamaican janitor lets me into an empty office. I am a half hour early. We waste some time by fetching a coffee. Oh, coffee. You can improve any situation.
The day is spent with paperwork and a test of my Adobe Flash chops. Kate, another intern, goes with me to yet another expensive, mediocre meal. She barely touches hers and then throws it away, making a point to say that her parents have been paying for everything. She is also from SCAD and we reminisce.
I return home and buoyantly DEMAND to eat something delicious. I refuse to pay so much for food that I don't remember and don't even care describing. The Indian delivery on the corner of Kosciuszko and Bedford is a hostel favorite and the two Graphic Designers from Ohio throw in cash with me for a veritable feast. We end the night debating how many languages the cat knows.
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