Have not been here since that day of doom, or well before January 20th. A seemingly useless bag screener, as would be found at an airport, greets all entrants now. It is quite crowded, especially given that it is Sunday, but this upper level garden is altogether empty. A couple of tourists wandered in just as I typed that. But I have the place to myself, per tradition. It is not too cold but I won’t stay long. Everybody seems relaxed. I didn’t take too much time in getting up here but it’s not like this is a place of splendor. I remember how many shops used to be here. Now almost all are gone. Is that a foreshadowing of some sort of Trump’s America? Has he yet fixed his payphone?
Wandering my way up to the far west side, for a Super Bowl party with someone who is the farthest thing from a sports fan or especially a Super Bowl observer. My head hurts and I have reverted to sleeping too damn late.
Something about New York that amazes me is how quiet it is. This place, well, it is close to silent, though the din of what I guess are exhaust fans drowns any street noises.
When I say this is not exactly a place of splendor I mean that tourists looking for crown jewels or whatnot find themselves looking at signs and commenting that there are gardens on the lower level. They will be disappointed if they anticipate anything very gardeny.
OK, got real windy all of a sudden, going to go back inside.
