My office is in the Financial District of Manhattan. My morning commute begins at the 7:38 MTA train in Chappaqua and ends four blocks from the Wall St. Subway station.
My morning workout is not in a gym (yet, fuuuuuck) but it involves fighting for somewhere to sit on the MTA, the running of the bulls that is Grand Central to find the correct subway, the pushing and shoving on said subway and the strut one does down Wall St. like a fucking champ to my office.
My breakfast was coffee that was too hot that I drank too quickly and toast that probably had some butter, salt, and pepper or peanut butter and banana that I wrapped in tin foil and ate on the train because like the rest of my generation, I crave portability. I like my office and my job, so no complaints there.
At around 1:15, my stomach starts to growl. I organize my shit, double-check I have my wallet and walk downstairs. The Financial District has a special atmosphere; no hipsters, no hippies, and no bullshit. This is the neighborhood where bullshit walk over you in their Berluti loafers so lunch here is not shit and does not take longer than 5 minutes because unlike in the movies, these people work longer and harder than most of us can even fathom. I decided to go to Lenwhich.
Lenwhich was packed, wall to wall, guys in suits, women in heels, old men sitting at one table, greenhorns at another, some mixed, and about a dozen guys behind the counter moving faster than that hibachi guy who made fun of you that time with your friends. The format is simple, pick what you want, customize as desired. I chose the Diet Style, which is some colorful layers veggies to which I added some smoked turkey and provolone. Also, I asked for a wrap instead of a sandwich. The result was a colorful amalgamation of colorful vegetables and some protein. I ate that wrap.
It’s not hard, its just food porn bruh