It's 8am. Despite only 3 hours sleep, I feel rested. It might have something to do with Washed Out's debut Within And Without playing on my iPod dock, it might have something to do with the cool glass of water and air conditioning, or it might have something to do with the view out of my 21st storey window. Building after building, centred - as they tend to to - around Central Park.
New York City has been my friend many times over the past few years, and as I rest my (dare I say, slightly hungover) eyes upon her glorious Sunday Morning facade, it's not so much a sense of deja vu, but of a long-lost companion simply saying "welcome back"...
I arrived at the Beacon Hotel on Broadway & 77th at just after 10:30pm NY time last night, which is the equivalent of 12:30pm on Sunday afternoon MEL time; a full 32 hours after waking up. Through a mixture of red wine, cold & flu medicine and Paul Newman I managed to rustle up 8-10 hours sleep during the flights which, I believe, may have just saved my life.
After a mix-up at front desk in which I found out not only is there another Dylan staying here (Dylan Glover, fyi - I wonder if he's a relative of Danny...), but another Dylan Stewart, I narrowly avoided sharing my room with three high school seniors and checked into my room. Sure, I'll have to check out and check back in, but when in you're in New York, every minute spent in your hotel room is a minute wasted anyway, so after breakfast with the boss, it's "Exploring The Upper West Side" day today.
Tonight I'll be meeting with work folk, checking in on them and ensuring their time spent in NYC has been worthwhile. Although the economy seems to be shot to shit here, Bruno my cab driver informed me last night that there are plenty of crew on every flight coming over here, trying to leave their mark on the city of Sinatra, Allen and Jeter.
I have no false hope that in my short time here I will leave a legacy even half as great as any of those; I'm just here on business. So I shall descend the elevator, cross the marble lobby floor, and burst out onto Broadway. When this city calls my name, who am I to ignore her?
It's 8am. I'm in New York City.
