Started the day in the Bronx, where the air smells like ambition and train brakes. I hopped on the subway, because nothing says ‘I love myself’ like voluntarily riding underground with 87 strangers and zero personal space.

[On the subway, en route]
The ride down to 14th Street was smooth… if your definition of smooth includes accordion players and someone clipping their nails in the corner. Classic New York charm.

[Arriving at 14th Street]
Popped out of the station at 14th Street like a raccoon seeing daylight – squinting, confused, and hungry.

[Chelsea Market entry]
Met up with some family at Chelsea Market—home to overpriced olive oil, artisan cheese, and my personal love language: food lines.

[Los Tacos No. 1 line]
And of course, we found the Los Tacos No. 1 line. If you haven’t stood in this line, are you even living? It’s part taco quest, part social experiment, part bonding retreat with the people two spots ahead of you.

[While in line]
At one point, I considered applying for a mortgage just to pass the time. they have different proteins options available, including nopal, which is cactus. It’s sticky if you touch it, but also very good. My favorite, by far, though, is the chicken.

[Tacos served]
And finally.. glory! Tortillas like fluffy clouds. Meat that tastes like it was seasoned by someone’s abuela with a personal vendetta against bland food. I blacked out for 3 minutes.”

[Everyone eating]
We ate. We cried. We forgave our past selves for ever eating sad desk lunches.”

[Exiting the market]
Left Chelsea Market full, happy, and slightly sticky. Would I do it again? Absolutely. Would I wait in that line again? Also yes. But next time? I’m bringing a folding chair and a motivational playlist.