As someone who grew up in a one-stoplight town surrounded by cornfields in rural Maryland but has an affinity for city-life as a reactionary result of that upbringing, I can adapt somewhat seamlessly between the two lifestyles.
Until it rains.
Because, to quote a Top 40 country song, in rural areas, “rain is a good thing.”
In the city, rain is an awful thing.
If the humidity I was trying to escape wasn’t enough to make me wonder why I left the South, the inevitable putrid smell that rises up from the streets of New York as the rain starts falling down is more than enough.
Walking home from the subway last night I thought my shoes were going to float away thanks to Tropical Storm Hurricane Arthur.
Ruefully, my sister and I decided that using our day off to go to the beach wouldn’t be the brightest idea.
Except apparently it would have been because it has been nothing but bright. No rain to speak of yet. Now the rain isn’t supposed to start until this evening.
The pending storm also means no attempts for Shakespeare in the Park tonight. As much as I wanted to see “Much Ado About Nothing,” the virtual lottery wasn’t kind to me and I don’t want to use my days off to wake up at the crack of dawn to wait in line for the (albeit free) tickets. Since I’m leaving a few days after my internship ends, Tonya and I will have to try for “King Lear” instead.
It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow also, but hopefully it clears up in time for Macy’s fireworks.