Minor Fall

For reasons I cannot share, I found myself at the main branch of the NYC Post Office this afternoon ... you know, the one right next to Madison Square Garden. Well, as you can see below, the grand steps of this building are truly spectacular. One of the most awesome sites in this big city occurs but once a year the night before taxes are due. Lines extend up to the doors from the street for the people waiting to pay by credit card ... and lines extend down the steps to the Mobile Post Offices parked at the curb for people willing to ... gasp ... pay cash. Over time, if you can sink into the rhythm of alternating lines moving in opposite directions, it's quite a trip.



When I was done with my very official business, I exited through the center doors and surveyed the view from the top. Realizing that these steps were the very things dreams were made of ... no, wait ... strike that ... the very things court houses were made of, I pretended that I was Martha Stewart and began my descent. It was quite a thrilling little game to play: my hair was blowing in the wind, I averted my glance from people walking by, and ... ok, so I didn't have a purse worth $7,000. Everything was going well ... until that fateful last granite step that was not quite the same height as the others. Plummeting into slow-motion-world, the only thought that continued to cycle through my head as I flew through the air was, 'Oh, why won't anyone save Martha?'. While lying on my back upon the sidewalk, I realized just how far there is to fall in this world.