I spent the morning of my 38th birthday perched on my fire escape like I was in the balcony of a theater.
Not quite 5:00 AM, the sun was making its rise to my right. The Chrysler and Empire State Buildings were still shadows to my left. Their lights were out and the sun was not high enough to make them glisten.
Below me, drunken club goers shouted in Spanish, threw punches and bled on the sidewalk. Bouncers from the corner Latin dance club swarmed to the scene. With lightening speed, they shoved half of the warring factions into a compact car that squealed its tires through a red light.
This is New York City Masterpiece Theatre at its rawest.
I hadn’t slept in nearly 24 hours, but I was happy.
Pass the popcorn, please.
Tired and happy.