The return home

Immigration waves me in way too easily; customs waves me out way too easily. The monorail is rickety—if I were Newark Airport I’d be embarrassed by the herky-jerky speeds and far-from-Disney-smooth track. The NJTransit train is on time, and there’s no line at the taxi stand when I get to Seventh Avnue, two surprising and refreshing occurrences. Ah, but my cab driver is a mess, has an old pre-extended-legroom car with a failing transmission, gets stuck behind trucks and would have blown past 15th Street at 40 miles an hour had I not yelled “This block! This block!” 50 feet in advance.

Welcome back, David.

At least my apartment is just as I left it. The dog is home with me, content and exhausted after a week of nonstop play time with other dogs. I too am content and exhausted after a week of fun. Time to sleep.