Cheap Thrills, Big City

Let me begin by stating that I am broke beyond that funny, "I am broke, can you by me a drink" stage. I have officially, according to my own declaration, entered the "I am broke, do you have a tortilla I can eat" stage. That being said, I along with some friends, both old and new, set upon the city last night seeking some cheap thrills. So to the Seaport, where we introduced my new roommate Seth (20 yrs. old, J.C. student, from mid-Illinois, pretty chill guy) to the expansive world of free progressive indie rock. Such music only being listenable in small doses, we struck out for Battery Park and a quiet, dark place to enjoy some of the Northern California bounty. Carrie, a man, a man who had been on the road for six weeks, touring this great land, and having just entered NYC, suggested we take a ferry ride. Brilliant! We all concur. Beautiful night. Wind. The lights receding. The smell of the sea. Staten Island. But there's a ballgame. And look, it's the ninth inning and they're letting people in for free. And when the game ends, disappointingly for the home team, there is going to be a fireworks display. But what fireworks!! It was almost as if they lost control, as if the whole fireworks arsenal, the whole cache, was exploding before our bewildered eyes. And so close to the ground. And so close to our seats. And when will it end?! A raw, unexpected show of light and sound. Thrilling, frightening. Hilarious. We cannot stop laughing. We feel like children, laughing, grinning wildly at the explosions, no longer above our heads but right before us, embers landing in center field. And then it's over; finally over. And so we take the boat home, and walk through the deserted streets of lower Manhattan. And we walk down Wall Street. I am envisioning stupidly finding some money, some real Wall Street money. But alas. Home. Peanut Butter. Sleep.