Some Days

Some days, Marty needed a drink more then food, almost more then breathing.

Some days had such a forceful impact that Marty was powerless to resist, although he  wasn't an alcoholic.    His problem might have occurred on a certain date, but that wasn't the case.

Some days the sights, sounds, and smells of the city brought back memories that overwhelmed him.

Marty exited his building onto West 68th Street, and turned East toward Sixth Avenue.  The fresh early morning air generated a momentary wish for a bigger nose, to better draw in the sweetness.  The memories started.

The few windows still lit by a lamp were losing their glow to the brightening day.  A clear, cloudless sky over the Park greeted him when he came to Sixth.  A fire engine raced South, its siren wailing.  Stronger memories.

Marty wasn't sure he could make it until lunch. The bars weren't open yet.  No returning to his place, not to be alone.  Hiding out in the office with its Southerly view was not an alternative.

A jet contrail drew a line across the Park's blue canopy.  The memories took over.  No question of where to go.  By the time the pilgrimage was completed, the bars would be open.

He took the 6 Train to Lex, then the E Train downtown.  The clean-up had been completed so the old stop could be used.  As WTC flashed across the exit screen, the doors opened.

It would be years before the construction was completed, but the site was a natural gathering place on some days.  As was the Pussy Cat Lounge as soon as it opened.  The girls wouldn't be on early, but the regulars on some days didn't care.

"Hi Marty," the bartender said.  "On some days, I kind of expect you.  The usual?"