Floating. It's that weird place that is neither home nor on the job. In transit, in motion, yet at a standstill. Airports, planes, hotels. They all transport us somewhere, yet in the moment we are nowhere. Just waiting.
Rain. Jumping puddles, avoiding getting splashed by rushing yellow taxies. Trying to make it there, somewhere. Adjusting to the pace, heading uptown. Impressions on the retina everywhere you turn. Thoughts, reactions. Stop. Click. Moving on. New York City, on the move.