Get in a cab.

Cabby says, "How is your life?  Tell me everything!"

I'm a little dumbstruck.  I usually just get in, and watch out the window.  I don't know what to say.

"Everything is great!  Life is pretty great!  I feel really blessed to have had all the experiences that I've had."

"Yes, life is great.  I am so blessed, too."

I don't tell him anything I know about Bangladesh.  He volunteers a story about a passenger opening the door into traffic last night, rendering a $1000 repair bill.

I don't really feel like chatting it up, but I want to share a conversation with him, because I'm sure he's had a long, lonely night.  And it can't be easy... transients passing in and out of his taxi for twelve hours straight.  Being surrounded by strangers all the time is the loneliest feeling in the world.  I can stand it for a while, but after a few weeks, I start to get homesick.  And not even for a place that I call home, but for people I call home.

So that being said, even though I pretty much feel like New York is home now, I'm still homesick all the time.  Sometimes, I'll even be sitting right next to you, and everything is normal, and calm, and easy.  And if I think about it for just a moment and pay attention, I'll be homesick for you.  I don't really know what that feeling is called.  I wrote about something like it a few months ago: saudade.  Maybe that is it.  It's a weird feeling, because nothing is actually wrong, but for some reason, there's a twinge of sadness or melancholy.  I have some questions about this, but really, there's no reason to pose them here.  I guess the point I'm trying to make is that happiness and sadness are two sides of the same coin.  And I won't elaborate on it anymore, because my words just don't make sense.  For goodness sake, I didn't even drive home the story about the cabby.  And won't.

Here we go, Day 194: