Springtime in New York
I'm a mid-western gal wandering the streets of New York City and my bunion has me tottering along slower than a terrapin trapped in springtime mud. Not that there is actually any springtime mud. Springtime muddle is more like it. Concrete and tall buildings everywhere I look, decorated with promenading poodles pulling their human servants along the sidewalk. Every so often one of the furry critters stops to poop and then watch with interest as the devoted caregiver produces one of those plastic grocery bags they all carry. Where I come from, dog crap is left for nature to deal with.
It seems everyone here calls themselves an actor, writer, editor, producer, or agent. The world of television, movies and publishing is alive and well and it seems to beckon them all. But once they start talking, you find they really drive a cab or wait tables. They all long for the smell of greasepaint and the roar of the crowd, but most of them will never get what they truly want. The roar of greasepaint, smell of the crowd is closer to their reality.
I just saw an old man muttering something that sounded like, "I need some new shoes and your mother wears Army boots." It's hard to tell the crazies from the rest of the population. Where I'm from, if someone is walking down the street talking to the air, you automatically know they have a few screws loose. Here, half the folks have these goofy blue phone things in their ears and carry on conversations everywhere they go.
"Drop everything and give me ten ... books, you idiot, not push-ups." The guy who said that has a phone, but I still think he's nuts.
So, you might be curious about what brought me here. It was one of those will of the wisp kind of ideas that float into your head and won't let go. I heard "real"imaginary animals live here. I know -- an oxymoron. Like Lewis Carroll, I feel as if I'm hunting for a snark. If ever there was a place where an imaginary animal might thrive, New York could be it. A friend told me I might find a galleycat. "Big deal,"I replied. "Alley cats are everywhere.”
"Galleycat, not alley cat," he told me.
"What's a galleycat?”
"I'm not exactly sure, but Bat Segundo has one working for them. I think it's an animal that spies on people and then hurries to tell them what they're doing.
"Well, real animals can't talk, but imaginary ones probably can.”
So that's it. I'm on the hunt for an animal I'm not sure exists. I haven't quite figured out how to tell the real animals from the fakes, though. I just saw a poodle wearing a pink tam. Maybe I'm delusional. Like the other poodles, he's pulling a friend on a leash. Thing is, she's so tall in those heels, I'm not sure she'll hear me if I ask.
Miss Snark hears all, even with her bluetooth.
Scoring to come