Instead of the usual moping about at home, I opened the windows and left the apartment to sit down across the avenue at the sidewalk cafe I'd been eyeing half-an-hour before, but when I went back to the Scoop and Grind the sun had gone behind a building so I set out to follow it among the skyscraper crags. Only the tops of other tall buildings were illuminated, all the sidewalks were in shadow by 4 p.m.--the price we pay for winter but who would want to live where there are no seasons?
Found no sun for my face until Central Park, where bare branches admitted what in summer they will block. How many statues are there in Central Park? Today they all seemed to be having a talk and people were pausing to watch.
After standing in the shadow of Shakespeare I tossed a ball to a friendly dog, waited on a cold stone bridge for a pedestrian to underpass, got thirty cents back from the busted coin box of the pay phone that ate my quarter and met Chet in the book store cafe where a classical quartet played to the mild applause of readers of Le Monde and the Detroit Free Press and Chet pulled out an English-language paper from Prague complete with Dilbert comic.
On the walk back to the park in the dark with sunglasses on I figured out why I love New York--no one here cares who you are.