Most of the buildings in my neighborhood are gray, brown or ugly white brick dulled to the color of marble, without the shine. Around my office, the buildings are similarly dour. Yet getting to work this morning, all I saw was an riot of color. Taxis exploded with brilliant yellows. Flags fluttered in the wind, assaulting me with piercing red bars and crazy psychadelic white stars swirling in a field of blue.
And it isn't just sight. It's sound, too. Waiting for my bacon, egg and cheese breakafst sandwich at the deli, it seemed as if the disco music was blaring so very very loud for that hour of the day. A side note: I love listening to disco at New York delis more than just about anywhere else, including in discos. Just as I find country music palatable only at divey honkey-tonks, the hum of activity and the general cheeriness of everyone in your average deli makes Donna Summer, KC and the Sunshine Band, Chic and their ilk sound like they were singing for the express purpose of accompanying sandwich preperation.
Why all the sensory overload? This is apparently what a hangover is like without the headache from loud music, the poisoned feeling from drinking well alcohol or the bloated feeling from having too much light beer. Drinking top shelf all night on someone else's dime leaves me feeling far better than the usual swill on special at bar review. Still, I'm not well rested (I had to check my phone's outgoing call log to get an idea of how late I was out) and I'm a total space-cadet when it comes to work.
Who's not billing until after lunch? It's me! It's me!
Bitch.