It’s 2:00 pm on a Wednesday. The date is February 10th, 2016. I’m on the lower west side of Manhattan on the High Line. It’s cold outside, windy but not as harsh as the wind usually is in Manhattan. The sky is cloudy and the air is filled with city noise such as  the engine buzz of the passing cars, the honking of impatient drivers, the speech of pedestrians ranging from English to Spanish and I think the lady that just got on the elevator with me may have been speaking Portuguese. I didn’t expect any tourist to be at the High Line since I’d never heard of it in the past 10 years that I’ve lived here. I hear the beeping noise of a truck backing into a driveway along with the sound of a truck being loaded by a few men below the High Line. Interestingly this area seems both commercial and residential. The architecture of the buildings differs greatly, none of the buildings exhibit any similarities in shape, size or color, although most of them are short, no skyscrapers nearby. There are a bunch of storage buildings, a reminder that this city is constantly expanding and in need for more space, which is followed by the sound of the construction of new buildings. There are also quite a few billboards. I know they cost a lot to put up but i can’t seem to figure out how any of them were worth that money. I pause my thoughts and try to take in my surroundings fully. Surprisingly walking on the High Line feels peaceful as if I’m in a bubble in which New York City becomes background noise. I smell bread being baked and car exhaust but the nearby Hudson keeps the air cool and almost fresh. Back to my thoughts. I notice a lot of plant life on the side of the path although most of it seems like weeds forcing their way through the concrete only to lay there lifeless while signs warn against damaging them. I like this place I could see myself coming here to enjoy a walk with the sound of cars in the background, but maybe on a warmer day.