Flake.

I was supposed to go upstate today. I worked a shitty short shift and made a terrible fifty seven dollars while the snow flakes fell in union square so big I could hear them splat. Or was that the crazy lady at table 213 slurping her spicy seafood soup? doesn't matter, the snowflakes were huge. The tents in the farmer's market were so heavy with them that they might have caved in on the turkey sausage or organic strawberry wine at any minute if vendors weren't jamming broomsticks into the white tarp ceilings to fling it off. And the customers were all a mess. One old lady in a floor length fur coat had at least a twelve inch puddle around her feet and everyone's hair was matted wet and itchy looking. A few europeans were smiling early in the day, happy to be in New York when the first big storm was coming in. By two o'clock even they had sculpted ice faces and the steel resolve of New Yorkers. No point smiling about the swirling white anymore. The brown drudge of sidewalk reality had spared no one in its ruining of sneakers and splattering shopping bags. Everyone had their chins tucked in, their umbrellas up, and their eyes on the next destination. You can't really sled down fifth avenue or have snowball fights during rush hour. In New York when it snows, you just hustle. And I was supposed to go upstate today. So at 3:32 I changed out of my work clothes and hopped onto the N train. The weather had only gotten worse. The snow was wetter and then harder, little hail balls mixed with the residue of white fluff still floating down. I stepped in five puddles at different corners and didn't stop to shake out my shoes. I pushed past umbrella people and poncho people, and angry tourists who didn't know where they were, let alone where they were going. The escalator was wet, the stairs were puddles of sludge, and the crowd was miserable looking. Inside Penn Station now and it was past flower vendors, pronto pizza, and the stupid stocking store with all the legs in the window. There was a tree up in the middle of the grand room and good god, more homeless people than I had ever seen in one place. They were curled up and sitting on newspapers around the entire edge of the Amtrak station. And who could blame them? Who would dare to kick them out in the ugliest weather of the year? I hadn't thought about the kind of havens that airports and train stations must be for homeless people in winter. I squeaked and squished past them and others to the ticket vendor and called Jason to tell him I was coming. The next train was to leave in thirteen minutes. He finally answered and told me not to come. That it was too messy and they couldn't get the car out. But what about the sleep I would get on the Hudson River line on this snowy night? And how awful it would be to venture back out and go home to Queens? Didn't matter. Can't argue with the weather. I was supposed to go upstate today, but instead I went back outside and headed for the closest subway. The E on 34th and 8th to Queensboro plaza and the R from there. No place to sit, it was rush hour. The air was whiter in Woodside. More flakes, less hail. My head still feels like it's in a sieve. Whiplash neck, sore throat, stuffy nose. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll make the trak back to Penn and catch the train to Hudson. Tonight I think I'll stay in.