"​Monday Morning Reverie"

The Metro North en route to New York glides like a silver thought between the Hudson and Annsville Creek, Bear Mountain rising behind it like a memory half-remembered.

It’s a perky kind of morning—the kind that arrives with a lingering kiss and a soundtrack from the seventies. Moonlight Feels Right by Starbuck was playing through my headphones as the Metro North train curved between the Hudson and Annsville Creek, Bear Mountain rising like a myth in the distance. I caught the image, of course. I’ll share it later. But the feeling came first: the kiss, the moonlight, the sweetness of a night that doesn’t need stars to feel right.

And then, politics. Eric Adams has announced he won’t seek re-election. A mercy, really. The city was ready to vote him out, and who needs that kind of public unraveling? He knew this long ago, but like so many Democratic leaders, he held on past the point of grace. Biden, Harris—same story. The reluctance to let go when the tide has already turned. So here’s hoping for a gentler rise for Zohran Mamdani, whose name may not yet echo through the boroughs but carries the kind of quiet promise that time might honor.

Last night’s film—some horror-sci-fi gem on Prime—left me haunted in the best way. New York City was the backdrop, gleaming and shadowed, more alive than I’ve seen it in years. The plot? A doctor, bats, blood, transformation. A bat-monster, maybe. I didn’t save it to my watchlist, and the title escapes me, but the mood lingers. The actors were unfamiliar, but they held the screen like they belonged to it. I’ll track it down eventually. Some stories deserve to be remembered.

This Monday began with movement. A run, a walk, a refusal to be distracted by the lens. Only a few scenes caught my eye—most I let pass, choosing rhythm over record. The morning was cool, beautiful, and full of those Southern-style waves from passing cars. Peekskill does that. It’s not New York City, though it pretends sometimes. That mural at Taco Dive Bar calling us the Sixth Borough? Illusion. Peekskill feels more Southern than Yankee, especially when strangers greet you like kin.

In New York City, you pass someone and maybe you size each other up. In Peekskill, you stop. You say hi. You mean it.
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Men are attractive here. Not many you’d want to meet for certain purposes, but enough to make the riverfront feel like a stage. And sometimes, that’s enough.