Thursday afternoon. The monitors have been on at full force all week and the colors are now fading from beautiful vibrant hues to a shorter spectrum of grays and browns. I’ve explored every eatery on this block and today all they’re selling is oatmeal – they ran out of brown sugar yesterday.
Yet just before my periphery vision fades and I’m sucked into the computer wormhole, the gentle hand of a woodwind instrument confidently and casually turns my chin, bringing my eyes just to the left of my screen, out a window by the back room, through the railings of the fire escape staircase, past the edge of the neighboring building, and deep into a corner of exposed sky. As TM Juke’s tune carries on, I’m opened up into that small fraction of sky, and can now see the city line, and more importantly, the infinite spectrum of colors that paint the sky behind it. The strong blues directly above me slowly fade into a shallower hue of tangerine just before they hit the top of the flatiron buildings. From my current vantage I can see the office, secured on the 11th floor, neatly stacked against another one, similarly shaped. I see just such buildings organized along the grid of NYC and from this angle it’s easier to understand the concept of it all. I turn back to my screen and write a note to myself: Listen to more TM Juke. Now, my periphery vision is working just fine.