There was a white butterfly in the depth of the subway station on 96th street. I was on the way down, she was on the way up. Between her and me was a shirtless man on some controlled substance. We did not meet in person, neither of us did.
As I was leaving the cab on Astor Place and 9th street, another little monarch butterfly almost landed on my forehead. We both were a bit scared of each other. She had to rest on the scaffolding of the white brick condo to calm down. Do butterflies get adrenaline rushes? She did not want to talk to me. She flew away. She missed her cab-fare.
The third pretty insect was suspended in mid air above that little viewing garden with the ridiculously shaped fence (it is a beautiful fence, it is).
She was far too high for me to even see it clearly.
It is good to see butterflies in the city.