The bells of the church down the street peal six times. But by then, I’ve struggled to get out of bed, thinking, yet again, another commute. The routine in the morning is just that–routine. Get up, shower, eat, check email, get dressed, walk to the train station. Five days a week, no real change. And routines are dangerous; they get old, comfortable. And the next thing you know, five years pass and you don’t know where the time went. But the one thing that never gets old is alighting from Penn Station, making my way through the crowds of tourists and commuters (all walking slowly, of course) and onto Seventh Avenue, where the City (yes, capital C) beckons. Never gets old, and for a small-town kid like me, it makes the routine worth the effort.