the gap was covered, for some reason, and the inhabitants of this building had, over the years, submitted to using this area as a completely inappropriate place to throw their garbage. there were at least a couple of feet built up at the bottom of the pile. the smell was not quite rotting garbage, but it was something very singular. the acoustics seemed tailor-made to amplify the most disgusting and intimate noises of my neighbors, though they ricocheted in such a way that one could not determine which neighbor was making which terrible sound. many other windows shared this view, especially bathrooms.
everything is cold and grey and green and damp here. i forgot, somehow, that that was the temperament. i'm not sure how people can love this place, except in forgiving weather. it's so dreary. but i suppose that people love it because it is familiar, and it has it's moments. occasionally the sun will break through the persistent cloud-cover, and it will feel like home and a place with potential all wrapped into one.
the raised dots on the subway platforms are my favorite. i would walk across them deliberately, which gave me some regular texture under my feet, alleviating the inevitable pain and fatigue incurred from the endless walking one does in this city. while waiting for a train, i would rub the soles of my feet on the dots, massaging the balls of my foot around one bump, and me heel between two. they were meant as a warning you were standing too close to the edge of the subway platform and were at risk of being hit by a train. but they always seemed inviting and familiar, all yellow and impossible not to see, like legos.