It is a big laundry day. A chore I hate because it involves a trip to the horrid laundromat.
Due to a recent hemorrhaging problem, I had four loads to do. It required two trips to carry all of the bags to the laundromat. It was exhausting.
Thankfully, I didn't have to wait for empty machines. Maybe because the prices rose again.
Once everything was loaded, I ran to the post office to mail a deposit to my bank.
As I passed a group of people conversing on the sidewalk, I noticed a butterfly perched on the thigh of one of the talkers. Butterflies are fairly rare in NYC. In 13 years in the city, I haven't seen one land on a person outside of the Museum of Natural History.
She looked down at it as it slowly stretched its wings and resumed talking. Her companions were oblivious to the natural phenomenon resting on their friend. The talker appeared indifferent to to this delicate, colorful creature.
Perhaps she isn't a New Yorker. Maybe she hails from the oyamel forests of Mexico and encounters this kind of thing every day.
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A New York City painter observes the city.
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