There’s also something in the air, an almost stillness to it like a crisp and homely sentiment, which makes an idle walk along the city’s streets all the more gratifying. I’m sitting by the window in Brooke’s apartment, watching the old tree in the courtyard below trying to steady itself in the usurping breeze. Over the last two months, I’ve seen a lot of New York by foot. It’s helped fill in time between interviews and casual hospitality jobs—I still haven’t found a full-time position; at most I get a few hours a week serving at some “high society” event. Brooke got me the work through a guy she knows who manages a company that hires people for catered events. Although it isn’t my usual field of work, it pays well, and I desperately need the money—that $601 I came with two months ago is long gone like the hills of Colorado. Below the tree it’s becoming more frantic, leaves tearing off to spiral away and down the street.
