Apr. 22nd, 2017

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Fabulous time in NYC.

Except that something rather odd happened around 5pm yesterday: Chris and Summer were leading me up Broadway on a forced march from Battery Park toward a Vietnamese restaurant they’d read about on Yelp, and my cumulative exhaustion jumped the tachometer. I absolutely knew I was maybe an hour away from an all-systems-shutdown.

I’d already marched around about eight miles that day before I rendezvoused with Chris and Summer. The Urban Blight Tour is always one of the highlights of any visit to NYC, and now that BB is off hiking the Appalachian trail, the Urban Blight Tour is always a solo exploration.

I’m getting old. There are limits where there didn’t used to be limits.

My hips ached. Ditto that tibiofibular ligament you feel when you flex your foot toward your knee.

Plus I was experiencing a kind of… sensory overload.

(“Sensory overload,” in fact, was kind of the buzz word for this NYC jaunt for all sorts of reasons.)

Fortunately, there was a subway stop right there.

“I’m gonna go home!” I told Chris and Summer.

I think they were a bit confused, but when ya gotta go, ya gotta go.

“Kiss, kiss,” I said. “Love you guys!”

It dawned on me then that they more-or-less think of me as a contemporary rather than as a Friendly Old Person. Which they would not think of me as were the cultural differences not so profound.

tired

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