I love walking to work from Grand Central. My Ipod scores the five-minute stroll as I weave through the pedestrian traffic in the Main Terminal and walk down 42nd or 43rd Street, depending on how I'm feeling. I pass a salon, where women are paying upwards of $45 dollars to have their hair blown out.
Oh - to be one of those women who can afford a daily salon blow dry and style.
I cross two avenues and pass a street vendor who always has a closet sale of cheap sweaters on 43rd and Fifth. Then, there's a fruit stand and a breakfast cart, where you can get the tastiest 50-cent pre-buttered bagels ever. And almost every morning, I walk by a homeless man, who calls himself Papi. He seems to live in a blocked-off secondary entrance to a small shop about four doors down from the entrance of my office building.
He usually offers random good mornings to people passing by - sometimes followed by a request for change, sometimes not. Today, I gave Papi half of my bagel.