hard knock life

they say that living in new york makes you hard. and i think i'm about to find out why.

working in midtown is a very different experience from working in the financial district. the bustle has more hustle, the streets are crammed with tourists and wholesale fabric shops, the peepshows abound and there is a man waiting to proposition you around every corner. on my way here this morning, i was called mamita three times. one of them asked if i had a minute to meet him around the side of the parking lot before work.

i couldn't decide if i wanted to cry or kill him. so i kept walking, jaw set. and it saddens me that i'm getting such clear evidence that in order to survive this new office space, i'm going to need a new set of armor. i'm going to need furrowed brows and frumpy clothing, combat boots. the lovely heels will have to go away, as will the skirts, because if the last few days are any indication, my feminine lovelies will be looked at as an invitation.

we don't leave the building very often. and when we do, we travel in pairs.

on our block we have: a methadone clinic, a peepshow, an adult video store, two parking lots and a polish art gallery.

i suppose that the revolutionary in me should be pleased by this, that this block is the very soul of pre-giuliani new york. but the pragmatist in me is angry because she no longer feels safe at her place of employment, and furious because that would be a fair trade if only she were happy in her job.

alas. so to survive, we kvetch openly. i have the roos and the owl and the biscuit within a short radius. all of my doctors are within walking distance. i can take the express train in the morning. so these are all good things.

but i am afraid, and i am frustrated, and i am very much missing our safe little corner of the financial district, lost in the shadow of the stock exchange.