Thoughts on living in a tourist area

Today is beautiful. Take the dog for a run. Shall we go to the Promenade? No. I can't even see the railing through the crowd. No worries, this'll just force me to take a longer route. We'll go to the park. I have been meaning to lengthen my runs. This is a surprise: a lack of Jehovahs. OR maybe they are just masked by the literal parade of mid-westerners walking the most fun part of my run, the down-hill part. Okay dog, we'll run on the street. No cars usually come this way. Ah, the park. It's in full spring bloom. Deep breaths. I have made it. I am happy. I feel great. Running is getting easier. The dog is smiling. It's good to dance around people taking photos. It's working muscles not needed in a straight uncrowded run. I will never get sick of this skyline. Instead of a loop around, why don't we take the streets back? This way I can stop running through people's memories. They aren't so bad. It is Sunday after all, and where would Broadway be without tourists? I am looking forward to conquering this hill, dog, aren't you? Oh. European tourists. Multiple groups of five walking abreast. My dog and I run single file. We are being polite. Really? REALLY! You can't move over just a little? Nope, I will not run on the cobblestone street. I am a clumsy spaz. I will twist my ankle and have to stop running and I will sit around all day getting out of shape. And you won't help me. You think New Yorkers are scary and rude. You think I'M rude because I am running through you, mother f**ker?! That's right. It's 15 against 1....no 2 including the dog. I am conquering this hill and all of it's challenges! An old man with a cane, a Brooklynite, stops to smile at me and the dog. He knows. He'll help me take them down if necessary. We share a knowing glance and a few words. Last stretch. In the sunshine. Lovely trees. Lovely flowers. I play unintentional hopscotch the last few blocks. I feel great. Stupid tourists.