As you can see, I have finally fixed my broken internet connection
I take the ferry into Pier 11 downtown every morning. I walk along the gently wobbling pier onto the white ship, and sit down inside the cabin, sometimes reading the free newspaper, for fifteen minutes while the ferry passes by Governor's Island to arrive at the southern tip of Manhattan island. It is a perfect commute - not cramped or bothersome, but a luxurious mini cruise during which I can stare away into the bright sky and sea if I chose to.
The waves can be fierce, and the windows get sprayed with the Hudson water. I name the waves things that need to be done once I get to the office, or people I need to call. And so I make my lists, but occasionally my mind wanders away into other more interesting things to think about. Like how, instead of going for a celebratory Mother's Day dinner, I will be attending a Korean ceremonial for M.'s grandmother who passed away on this day and how I have to prepare my black suit. Or how my mother said on the phone, "I feel frustrated sometimes because I can't see you" and how I choked back tears as I told her I'd be there in August. Or whether M. is having fun on his conference in Washington, D.C., and how it would have been nice to join him had I not started working.
It is quiet in the Financial District as I walk towards my office. Who would have thought the physical reality of Wall Street was this practically empty neighbourhood? In my mind, the symbol of capitalism that it is, I had pictured a bustling, loud quarter - and so it had been, until two planes ended the world as we know it. You don't need reservations to have lunch in the restaurants - they're never full. The place is empty after seven o'clock, except for limousines and taxis lining up to take weary workers home.
In my office, I can walk over to my window to see the Statue of Liberty in the distance.