I was ...
Traffic moved in unison. The honks were polite. They warned, "Hey, buddy, watch your right rear, I'm comin' through." Four lanes of traffic, inches apart, moved as if choreographed. Bicycles darted with ease between vans, cabs, and garbage trucks. Pedestrians looked out for each other without a word. A dropped glove was swooped up by a street vendor and held high for the owner to see and retrieve.
Women dressed in black - either jeggings or tights, tunic sweaters or short dresses, three-quarter or hip length coats, boots or stilettos, scarves, hats, texting gloves, shoulder bags, and attitude. Only the scarves and language offered colour.
Smartphone users; clicking pictures, texting, scrolling during intermission at the theatre, making reservations or business deals while crossing the street or hailing a cab. True New Yorkers, these weren't folks who'd come to town for a show.
Times Square. Broadway. Tiffany's. Fifth Avenue. Street vendors. Roasted chestnuts. New York fries. Brisket on rye. Cheesecake.
My legs felt longer. My stride was deeper. There was purpose to every step. I was no longer a distant observer; I was part of the city.
It pulsed. It breathed. It embraced me.