Monday, 26 August 2002 | Leaving NY

It took stepping outside of it and back in again for it to feel completely natural and comfortable, for it to feel like a new pair of shoes that I've worn long enough that they've stopped giving me blisters. This morning I caught the 8 a.m. train to go to a meeting at the DC-branch of the organization I work for. Including the cab ride, I must've been underneath open sky a total of 8 minutes. During the meeting I actually forgot I'd changed cities; but in between the two were three hours, several bodies of water (on which I caught a glimpse a heavy-set man fishing in a jon boat), trees that weren't squared off by concrete, dilapidated row houses in Baltimore standing tall and skinny, factories billowing smoke, and an old black woman ambling up the street in Wilmington. It was on the subway ride home that I noticed my shoes had been domesticated.