An Instance of Perfection

Dressed in red running pants, a plain t-shirt and grey zip hoodie I made my way to the elavator. Pushing the down button caused the door to open, the elevator waiting for me as though somebody knew I was ready to leave. Once on the ground floor I noticed a smell that could only have been Pine-Sol scented weed. Apparently the super's wife had recently mopped and the doctor in apt xx was doing some medicinal marijuana research. It was a little before 6 pm on a Friday so Happy Hour was gearing up. As I walked out my building something was peculiar. Instead of the usual sensory overload we all experience walking around this vibrant metropolis I was met by an eery silence. The air was crisp, but clean. The usual noises that could be the soundtrack for our lives was noticeably absent and I was alone. Not a stranger in either direction. I paused mometarily to absord the enormity of this minimal feat. In a city where nobody knows your name, but you are never quite alone for a brief moment until I reached 3rd Avenue the city was serene. Like the calm before the sensory storm, an instance of perfection.