I wake up to cabs screeching on the road. Words that should not be spoken by very angry drivers. Bright and early. Good morning, New York City. I walk with my dad to a bakery. L'imprimerie. I get a shot of espresso. Enough to jack me up on caffeine and make up for my loss of sleeping in. We leave, and walk around for a bit. We talk so much that I hardly notice my agonizing feet. We eat pizza, pretzels, and lamb. Credit to the food stand on North 3th street. Then, Dad and I head down to the subway and hop on. We arrive at Central Park and wait for my mom. She arrives at around 1:00. I say my greeting to my brother, and we play in the park. Meet some other kids my age. Play a little bit of baseball, The usual. After Mateo and I are not able to move or breathe, Mom calls a taxi. We go into Brooklyn and go shopping. Mateo and I beg for something that is useless and that we will forget in a day. But she still says yes, and we have joy for a few minutes. Until one of us starts a fight. Couple bruises, couple sore spots. Also the usual. We get home, and start the treacherous journey up the 13 stair cases. Oh goody. We get to our apartment, and eat some dinner. Afterwards, we watch a movie (sometimes we eat dinner while watching the movie). We say goodnight, and I head to bed. Another beautiful day. I fall asleep to the honks and yells. Goodnight New York. —Rafael Zafir (age 13).