Skies above are blue like the Atlantic Ocean surrounding Fire Island in August. An Indian Summer encases the isle sold for sixty guilders worth of goods. A string of sixty degree days started just yesterday.
A chilly morning gave way to these cherished times when the thrill of harvest season stretches on and on. By noon, a weak, whitish sun rarely has the daylight-savings time to cast golden rays down the man-made canyons of Manhattan. Suddenly the sun was golden again. A frost-bitten breeze is enough to demand an overcoat, but in this town, fashion is everything in Fall.
A walk from West to East across Fourth Street in the Village leads one through the crazy, modern maze that is the campus of New York University. Construction crews are busy demolishing everything historic in this neighborhood with the exception of tall stone arches that grace Washington Square Park. The infestation of junkies and crack dealers are gone from the park of yesterday; so are the restrooms where it seemed half the city once cruised. Long ago, the irresistible sin of the city vanished– under the iron fists of a city pre-nine-eleven and the post modern world where Mexicans work on construction crews.
Yesterday, dirt was everywhere, encased in Northerly winter winds. Red, brush-burned tanned faces on short, stocky bodies did not turn to glance up from hammering with noisy, air-powered machines.
A blue wool suit– one older than the new pathways being built in New York City’s most public park captures every piece of lint and fuzz in the air, north of Soho. Fresh from the dry cleaners, the decade-old designer suit with the label ‘DAKS—London—New York—Paris’ seems to have a personality of its own and carries the owner to kinder sidewalks where hip college students suck their teeth– not in jealousy, but in lust for the handsome man with salt and pepper hair who passes.
An interview on Broadway; a call back will likely come; to the play that may lead to work; a third audition on an Autumn runway called a job interview; a try-out as a model secretary, on a runway that sure seems like make-believe during this recession.