6 a.m.

There's something special at 6 o'clock in the morning...



... when it's still to early to go to Starbucks...



... because it's Sunday, and they don't open until 6:30 on Sundays, and the door's unlocked, but when you go in, they say "We're not open." It's 6:11, and you're a woman alone. Outside, it's snowing and there's not yet a hint of dawn. It seemed beautiful when I stepped outside my building a few moments earlier, saw the first snow of the season and took those pictures, but now, it seems really sad and lonely. The barista can't say, "Please, take a seat, and I can serve you when it's 6:30," and she doesn't think to say, "I know we're usually open at 6, but not on Sunday... I'm really sorry." She just glares at me, and I see I'm a trespasser. I must retreat into the night. I could walk back to my apartment, and I would if only the WiFi weren't malfunctioning again. I could go walk on the Promenade, take some more pictures, but does a woman walk alone in the dark on the Promenade?

My exile in New York continues....

Eventually, I get a wisp of happiness from a doggywog....





I think about home...