1) The garden in my neighborhood could be Central Park. The river in front of my apartment building could be Hudson River. The bridge across the river, then, must be Manhattan Bridge. And I could be the Annie Hall of this city, although I do not expect myself to be half as charming as Diane Keaton.
(I am extremely skeptical of WA's sense of humor - probably because it is too similar to mine. It keeps me on my guard.)
2) For a second I felt I could touch the wind. It left something on my fingertips and went away when I tried to grasp it.
It was as if I carelessly caressed a baby cat - the fur in its ears could be made into the best paintbrushes in the Middle Ages.
Or something from the sky carelessly caressed me - I am the purring cat it is keeping.
3) This something, then, must not be God or anything like that. It must be something from New York City. Somethings as inspiring as jazz, booze and cigarettes? The things of which I only had a brief taste of and loved?
Or it was the right music at the very moment of my life? At this very second, everything looked like something from a movie that I will always replay and replay in my head. And I found the city to be my jungle, where I could grow up desperately overnight in the best or worst way possible.
No, it was something I couldn't quite identify yet. But it was fine. Not everything had to be defined, not anymore.
4) Happy (late) birthday you there, have a nice one.