IT’S UNNATURAL for the city that never sleeps to take a months-long nap, so we can’t wait to get up, swig a bodega coffee and plunge back into the swing of things. The arrival of the new year heralds vaccines, sane Washington, D.C., leadership and hopefully, before long, the chance to once again practice some of our favorite pastimes.
When it’s safe again, we’re looking forward to being “too busy to talk” because we’ve got something to do that isn’t work. We want to go to a movie. We want to see a jazz trumpeter sweat his way through a solo. We want to see a young comedian die on stage.
We want to see showtime on morning commutes and hear people singing praise to God on church Sundays and synagogue Saturdays.
We want to boo the Knicks and Mets and Jets in person.
We want to overpay for an overrated hamburger. We want to dress up to go out. We want to sit close enough to strangers to eavesdrop on bad first dates.
We want to stay out till last call, when it returns to its rightful 4 a.m. We want to arrive at work foggy and sluggish the next day.
We want to send the kids off to school, where they stay all day, five days a week.
When it’s safe again, we want museum galleries to be packed with people pretending to understand the art. We want to thrall to the crazy chaos of a dozen parades, street fairs, block parties.
We want to whine about traffic en route to the airport, and lose our breath when we spot the skyline through the windows on final descent.
We want to hug our parents. We want to see your scowls, smirks, and someday soon, we pray, your broad and unmasked smiles.