Semana Santa

Speaking of adventure, there was a time long ago when I worked for a literary agency. My job was to read and reduce the unsolicited manuscripts. It was midwinter and I was occupying someone’s empty beach house in the Hamptons.

Every Monday I would ride a dirty train into the city, impossible to even see out of the scratched up green hued windows, casting the world in oxidized metal. I would board at a wood carved train station half hidden by pillows of snow out at the end of Long Island, and a few hours later arrive in the sooty dank tunnels that eventually pop one out into the very heart of the city. Shocked into the noise and bustle I’d jostle my way the few blocks to the agency, a tall grey building in amongst innumerable tall grey buildings. Sign in, nod to the attendant and wait in a damp huddle for an elevator.


3 thoughts on “Semana Santa

  1. when i returned to america from england, got a job with nbc radio between lost andgles and palm springs — and was driven both ways by a chauffer who lacked a sense of humor: one may morning, i noted that the shifting desert sands were beautiful, calming. ‘lady,’ he croaked, ‘that’s the san andreas fault.’ i quit — and moved to manhattan.

  2. What amazing tales you have to tell. I want details, of course! How wonderful to quit a job and head out to parts unknown–solo. I envy your wanderlust. The Galapagos have always intrigued me–I imagine it as a land in a time of its own, unspoiled. (Travel shows hint at the destruction of this ideal.) Please find a way to go, and come back with photos and stories!

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