My city and her steaming summers, accompanied by free icees at Alto's pizza; my garden of cactuses and African violets on the window sill; Her culture-ridden streets, her dread-locked side streets, her Chinatown clutter, her wandering buses of perpetual motion filled with indifferent people; Seeing bums on the sidewalk; hearing musicians in the subway (offering up their souls to the city for a nickel) and begging mom to give them "just a quarter or two;" Feeding cheerios to the pigeons, running through sprinklers in the park; picking inedible berries off meager bushes; Watching the leaves turn red and yellow and orange and fall to the ground, thin and transparent, like colorful squares of origami paper; Standing, in the winter, over the vents in the ground that spewed hot air and warmed the bottoms of my feet.
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