My 4- day pit stop at New York was unlike any other leisure stay but something I always wanted to do - stay in an apartment alone. It was a cold February and downright scary to begin with.
I arrived on a wet, sub-zero morning. My key box outside the apartment won’t open with the code given to me. With numb fingers, trembling legs and chipped nails, I almost gave up, only to realise I was trying to open the wrong box.
I so longed for the comfort of an over priced hotel.
But eventually, the city took me in. I overspent on the groceries with dreams of cooking breakfast and making salads everyday. I picked up 2 buckets of ice cream (I rarely eat ice cream) and eventually left it untouched for my Airbnb host, hoping it will help with a good guest review.
My visions of daily crawlings to the vibrant underground bars and jazz clubs were quickly down sized. I realised it takes steel to enter a club alone and have a drink. Knowing I am not going to be that brooding good looker in a bar, a jack in his hand, who gets all the attention and then brings the house down, I settle for a little bit of writing and lots of Netflix (on a projector) back at the apartment.
Breakfasts were the unhealthiest at this awesome old-school American style breakfast place with red couches and fat waitresses. So what if I couldn’t have a jack in a bar alone, I found a place that serves unlimited coffee (“some more coffee bud?”) for as long as you sit there. An 80-year-old bald regular sat there with an Italian newspaper and 3 servings of sausages. A couple with a baby in a pram walked in, the wind chimes tinkling as they opened the door and let the cold drift inside.
It was time for my 4th espresso.
