In April the city was still so very cold. I walked the elongated avenues at the required city pace or better. At 8am sharp before heading down Lexington each morning, I would stop by the fruit cart stand on the corner opposite my temporary abode. A Bangladesh man standing out in dismal weather until the quiet hours of the night—cold, imagining the dusty warmth of home, hoping someone may greet him with a “salam.”

I wore a down coat and never imagined how with such little effort one may easily resemble everyone else. I not only blended in, I was in fact invisible. Not in the manner that one may go unnoticed when in plain view– I was actually truly invisible. The hood of my coat engulfed my petite head, reducing my peripheral vision. I walked to stay warm. I walked because I thought it would enable me to feel connected. I walked hoping for an encounter of sorts, an escapade or an adventure. Instead I walked and passed people that were busy passing me by. The city in the cold is no summertime. For ten days all remained the same. I had hoped to connect but we all traversed the streets with our coat’s hood up, unable to see left or right.

By the tenth day’s end, the city fades into an horizon and I am on my way home.