And I see

a traffic jam of confused dazzled tourists. tourists who look towards the sky and then everyone looks up but I see nothing there. tourists who block the sidewalk with two strollers and a fat kid. tourists who ask me if the uptown train goes up Manhattan or down. tourists who think real-life NYPD cars are so cool to take a picture of.

Half way down the obstacle course of 42nd St., I quit the sidewalk to walk in the bus lane (where you can see the other real New Yorkers are). My iPod in, my heels clicking fast my blazer ruffles in the slight wind -- my look solidly says Don't Bother Me. F*ck off, tourist people and advertisement people and street vendor people and homeless people and drunk people.

And so the day ends.