We're tired of standing in line (and just standing) on the pier beside the Intrepid Air and Space Museum, and we duck around behind the food trucks to take a load off. The cruise ship in port next to us looms hundreds of feet high, a giant floating city of rooms, and we watch a few small figures strolling on its outer decks in the creeping dusk.
Some portholes down near the waterline light up while we sit on the stone bench, and I say, "That's where the lower-class Irish are doing jigs in their wooden clogs."
I imagine their "betters" above, waltzing through gilded ballrooms in tuxes to the gentle strains of Strauss, the ship so large that they can't even feel the tide.
No comments:
Post a Comment