when you're a jet

I finished work last night at about 10.30pm and while I've lately been riding home, the trip taking about 6 minutes, this time I thought I'd walk. It was a balmy and quiet night, perfect for a stroll. I set off from Mulberry Street, right into Spring, a couple of blocks along to Broadway, taking a left and then making it home. I mention the directions because I suddenly caught myself walking home without a second thought about which way to go. Things are now starting to happen automatically. I found myself not having to take a moment to ponder the course. Instead, I took that moment to decide which course, out of many, I would take. Not through the heart of Soho then along West Broadway, until Church Street, the way I usually ride, but a slow perambulation along Broadway until Leonard Street, then left onto Church then right to Reade. Finding the way home felt as commonplace now as coming across yet another film shoot which was taking place along the way. I stopped to consider for several seconds the enormity of the production and, asking one of the crew what the name of the film was, he replied that they weren't allowed to say. Oh well, never mind. I walked on passing two paparazzi and asked the same question. 'Some shitty movie' said one of the guys out the corner of his piehole. Humoured, I kept strolling along, passing some actor emerging from his trailer. 'What's the movie?' I ask. 'Remember Me', exclaims the actor. 'Nope', I say. 'No, no,' he says, 'that's the name of the film.' 'Yeah. Good luck', I say and walk on. The lights are all bright down Broadway.