underground and underfoot
In February, on one of those cold, grey Saturdays that is best spent curled up under blankets, we decided to attend the Subway Scavenger Hunt. We knew nothing about the organizers save for a brief internet flyer I saw on facebook one dull, working Monday. And so here it was, the weekend, and we were fighting the urge to go back to sleep, lacing up our running shoes. “I’m packing a book,” I said, shoving my book, a New Yorker, and the front section of the New York Times into my bag next to my water and enough food to keep me from getting grumpy. “And if gets too boring, I’m just going to go home” “But it was your idea to do this!” Zosia said, laughing. “I know,” I said. “But I’m just saying. If it sucks, I’m not sticking around.” “If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late,” Katerina said. So then there was the rush out the door and the race to catch the bus. “Look, I’m already running!” Zosia said, chasing after the bus in her