I’m not saying I will, but I could go on for hours escorting the reader–forcibly, if necessary–back and forth across the Paris-Chinese border.

– J.D. Salinger, “The Laughing Man”

I consider myself pretty fearless when it comes to public transportation in this city.  My apartment is a good ten to fifteen minute walk from the nearest subway.  Commuting to work takes about an hour each way, as does the schlep out to Queens College – each way.  On days that I have class, my twelve-hour itinerary will take me on the L, 1/2/3, A/D (and sometimes B), E, and G trains, as well as the Q64 bus.  Yet I don’t feel burdened by this constant movement.  There’s something invigorating about traversing the motley landscapes and underground chasms of New York.

As much as I profess to be a transit warrior, the state of the MTA post-Hurricane Sandy has drained me considerably in just a few days.  Subway service between Manhattan and Brooklyn is still non-existent, so I’ve had to walk 2.5 miles to Queensboro Plaza to catch the N into Midtown.  At least there’s a nice view from the Pulaski Bridge.  Here’s a triborough panorama I took this afternoon:

Brooklyn to the left, Manhattan front and center, Queens to the right

For some reason I’ve been thinking of J.D. Salinger.  I finally read Nine Stories this past summer, including “The Laughing Man” in which the eponymous character is protagonist of a story within the story.  The Laughing Man has a ragtag band of “four blindly loyal confederates” – a wolf, a dwarf, a “giant Mongolian,” and a Eurasian girl.  His rogue exploits also shuttle him back and forth on the border between Paris and China.  How’s that for mythical!  I wouldn’t mind living at such a Paris-Chinese border myself.

Walking home on the Pulaski Bridge at night, the lower third of the Manhattan skyline is still pitch black.  There’s something eerie about this vision of an urban ghost town.  I guess it makes me think about the spaces we inhabit and how we assume their dependability and concreteness.  That everything can continue as it always has because the metropolis is solid and real.  What a strange limbo we’ve been dwelling in, a “lost week” where daily routine is upended and we’re forced to adapt or suffer.  This city is wondrous, ineffable; at the same time, vulnerable.  Maybe it’s easy to forget weakness while living here.