I know that I shouldn’t be here. A bathtub-size wave breaks over the toe of my black boots. I’m standing on the top step of the Hudson River Park West 11th Street bosque, 7:30 pm Monday night, giddy because the wave in this bathtub came all of the way from New Jersey. The river is already nearly up to the promenade railing. In a little over an hour, the water where I’m standing will be up to my chest. I’m drawn to the, hopefully, once in a lifetime spectacle of seeing the Hudson River this misbehaved. The expanse of water and the impotence of the flash on my camera to document the darkness begins to unnerve me. While I’m considering ISOs and f-stops, the water has risen to my ankles. Perhaps I should get out of here. Back to West Street, checking both ways for cars that aren’t traveling, I step off what I think is the curb, plunging into water up over my knees. Yes, perhaps I should get out of here.
