New York, New York

I’ve just figured out why song lyrics, T-shirts and people say, “New York, New York”: it’s not because they’re deliriously happy and use repetition to make a point; it’s the name of the city and the state.  Perhaps there are other cities called New York in other states, warranting the additional information.
I’m in the back of a small yellow taxi cab.  Dan had emailed me the name of a Lincoln car company that he’d booked with Julian to transfer from the airport to Aaron’s apartment.  I didn’t want to book one in case I couldn’t find them so I ambled out of the airport, after finally skirting around the small female child and her female adult companion that had blocked the aisle getting off the aeroplane (to talk to the pilot), blocked the aisle once off the aeroplane (I have no idea why she stopped or why the adult female didn’t tell her to keep moving) and blocked the aisle 3 metres later (she stopped to turn around).  The adult female and adult male had already blocked all the passengers from Row 21 and up inside the aeroplane as they discussed where the carseat was last seen, as it was not in an overhead locker and probably had been left at the gate in Toronto.  I thought it ironic that the man had only moments before chided the girl for her distraction that would have caused her to forget something in the seat pocket in front of her.  He’d already forgot the carseat in another country.
Although it’s my second trip to this huge city I’m still a little bit excited.

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