Washington Heights, first impressions of 2018:
Quick hustling neighbors with bottles of wine under the arm, scampering to nearby apartments.
Open-doors at Rabbi Samson’s Yeshiva. On the curb, bundled up orthodox kids discuss the Talmud, their words condensing in the frigid air like thought bubbles.
Hungry families lining up for brunch at the diner on 181st, the only one open today. A hand-lettered sign offers Greek yogurt with a choice of granola or fresh fruit.
A half-read paperback, still sitting in the pocket of my jacket, an American Airlines boarding pass marking the page.
An improvised cozy of hard-packed snow propping up an empty beer bottle on the hood of a red Honda Accord.
A coarse mural depicting a row of buildings on the side of a blind alley.
I admire the equanimity of dogs; they care nothing for New Year’s resolutions.