Turning The Knob

A couple of weeks ago, I was visiting the wife at her office along with our son, and since we wanted to leave Manhattan together in our car and it wasn't the end of the day, The Prince and I strolled off (literally, he was in his very smart red Inglesina Zippy) to explore midtown through his eyes.

So I took him to Grand Central Terminal, right into the main concourse. I love that site, it's just an immense space, I can't help but think of this rather than Times Square as the actual Center of the Universe, it seems like every being on the planet passes through there on a daily basis.



I think about what must have gone into the construction of the damn thing. With the same plans, if it were built today, I can't help but think it would take decades before completed.

I was thinking along those lines as I do when alone there, but now I was there with my boy, wondering just what he was thinking. He was smiling, so no worries there, but was he fascinated? Did he wonder where all the people came from, where they were going? Does he feel any fear at being amid hundreds of strangers?

And that's when the writer kicked in. It sounds awful, I know, but I suddenly thought that a nightmare-worse-case parallel universe version of our visit to GCT would make a pretty gripping story. Just not a feature. Believe it or not, I'm tossing the idea like a coin, heads it's a story/novella/novel/whatever, tails it's a Law & Order episode.

I'm still settling into the new job, there's a learning curve, but I've got commute time back to think on the train, to read, to sort through ideas. This is a compelling idea, and I'll be thinking on it a good amount.

There is something that gives me pause, however, and it's the thought of taking a look behind that creaky old door everyone's got in the dark corner of their mind. I like my life right now, I'm not driving home from work furious, I'm spending weekends with the family, the wife and I are happy and The Prince is at a great age where everything is data for his spongy brain. Where I was ten years ago, alone, unhappy and professionally stagnant seems like a million years past. Why would I want to tap into bad thoughts?

To temper my mood while writing this piece, I'll write an Office spec as well. That should keep Tom on an even keel. I'll let you know if Dwight goes postal and kills Kevin.