Skinny legs, skinny arms, bones contoured to the world. A weightless body hovering above the tourmaline grass of my childhood.

Feet on white pavement. The vibrations from pounding the hot concrete travel up through my body– up through the fibers of my being– and escape through my tangled hair.

In my sandals I was fast.

I could outrun the boys on their in-line skates, scooters, their own feet. In their heads they were thinking can’t let a girl beat me. My body reacts to their challenge with a bang, leaping over the wire fences that surround the long patches of grass.

The Silver Towers Plaza is the best place to run like the wind.

The breeze sweeps around the plaza, catching my feet as I run with it. The buildings are 32 stories tall and numbered 100, 110 Bleecker Street, 505 LaGuardia Place. As i’m swept upwards towards the top of the buildings, past the curious half-parted windows, past the closet peepers too afraid to look, I wonder where all the numbers in between went. Settled at the top with feet dangling over the edge, it is here that I discover– people are a fascinating breed to watch.


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