Lately, because of my continuing and unabated frustration about the mostly nonexistent uptown service at the 34th Street subway station, I’ve been walking over to the 42nd Street station on Eighth Avenue, where I can catch an A or C.
It’s a longer walk by 10 minutes or so, but it’s always much more interesting, and I’m always relieved when I think about not having to wait for the uptown D or B. Plus, even though the walk is longer, the overall commute is generally about the same.
I’m pretty sure there’s a lesson here that I could apply to other areas of my life, but I’m going to leave the specifics to aside for the moment and focus on the golden aura of the western sun.
