I joined the Blackout Boys for a ramble into Central Park to enjoy the shady boulevards. People were out in force, making the most of a 'holiday' Friday. Central Park is actually a beautiful, inspiring place. To be surrounded by green, yet have the buildings of NY peek above the treetops like giant conifers is subtly affirming. Are we managing to push our colossal constructions back, set them aside for some of the comforts of nature? Yet the buildings have to be visible for that feeling to echo round. Telling.
We paused in a grassy area filled with sunbathers and I conked out for a good while, enjoying the softer ground (than concrete, but not by much!). Thomas and Bill eventually went back into town. Thomas called and informed us that the Marriott finally had power and was letting people in to their rooms. John, Tim and I, refreshed by our respective snoozes, headed into town and agreed to meet for dinner that night. I went up to my room (arrived at approx. 4:30, 29 hours after I had left it the day before), had a really cold shower (no hot water yet), and, well, what else to do but walk some more with my camera!? Yes, call me brainless and silly, but I was in NY. First on the List Of Things To Do: eat! Some of the same street vendors were still at it, looking tired, harassed and happy. Even the lightly carbonized chicken tasted good, especially with hot sauce. I had to record where I'd slept the night before then roamed south, slaloming amongst blocks and buildings.
Having filled my tummy, I could sense my artsy side reassert itself. I'm not sure how people referred to as 'starving artists' really work. Is it really the angst that is so oft quoted as creating great works of art? The angst of hunger? Or is it something greater, or even just different? I know I don't focus well (no pun intended) with the angst of hunger clamping my belly. Tim called my now functional cell a couple hours after my street vendor meal and I returned to happily refill my belly.
Tim, John and I had a nice dinner nearby, eventually joined by Bill. A nearby bar loosened up the conversation, revealing that Bill held a private pilots license and Tim a sailplane license. Flying and piloting a sailplane is definitely on the List Of Things Peter Will Do. Tim and I again played old men and went home to our respective beds. I couldn't help but notice the difference electricity made to the city.
