New York state of mind

Well the day started early. I hadn’t slept a blink. That endless restless feeling, tossing and turning when you know you have to get up early and every second of sleep is vital, so as a result you end up not sleeping at all by thinking about it too much.

But that kind of tiredness is sometimes a nice feeling when floating through Dublin airport. Lack of sleep can produce an almost ghostlike feeling. Where you aren’t really present. You are there… but you are not there.

But anyway. There’s plenty of time for sleep on the plane. And lucky me, I get an entire aisle to myself. Time to sprawl out. And just before I lay down I hear behind me…

“Mark?”

I turn around to see Patrick Freeman, a friend from Cork, who happens to be on the same flight to New York as me.

There is a brief moment of excitement and a flurry of activity. But we soon settle and before I know it I’m sound asleep. I wake just as we are coming into land at JFK.

How strange to have slept the entire Atlantic crossing. I can’t see Patrick Freeman anywhere as I disembark the vessel. Did I imagine it?

To splash down in the Big Apple feeling this refreshed and energised is a wonderful feeling. A quick check in at the hotel to make sure my room is satisfactory and then I’m straight out the door into the hustle of Times Square.

I quickly locate the Majestic Diner for a sandwich and begin to make my way by foot up through Central Park. There are people to meet in the upper east side.

A small conglomeration of musicians, writers and actors, from Portland, London, Dublin and Tyrone, all meeting in a Pizza Slice joint; some of them old friends, some crossing paths for the first time.

After a munch of pizza and a quick glug of vino, it’s a jump across the street to catch the Hollywood actor as he launches his new book. We have our front row seats reserved and watch as the A-lister gets interviewed by another fine thespian, of cult horror fame.

It’s all over in a flash and we find ourselves driving through the city to make it to the small Italian restaurant where the after-party is being held.

The wise one amongst us keeps insisting, “Remember, we aren’t staying, we’re just saying hello and splitting…Got it?”

It was a private affair and only a handful of people were alerted to its secret whereabouts, yet the room was so tiny that we could barely move.

We stood huddled around the dinner table, shoulder to shoulder, until we needs to escape.

And then before we knew it we were back on the street.

What next?

There’s a gig happening in the village that we’re invited to attend.

Is it too far to go?

It’s the other side of town.

Does that really matter?…