I am sitting on the gritty gray steps in front of Union Square on a evening in early July. It is 8:07. I got out of work around 6, went to gym, and ate dinner.  Union Square is a few blocks away from the gym and it lies on the R line–the subway that I use the most as it runs directly from my house in Brooklyn to my work in the garment district of Manhattan. Union Square is overflowing with people. If I stood up and tried to count the number of people around me I know that my attempt would be futile. There has to be at least 500 people in my immediate sight-line. Not counting the people that are passing in and out of my view. There are soft drums coming from a group of street performers to my left. There is also an abnormally large crowd of roller bladers huddled together blocking my view of the percussion ensemble. I am not sure if the group is coming or going. I am not even sure why the plans of the roller bladers pass through my stream of consciousness—I find roller blading silly. The accents I hear around me are varied. The people within 20 feet of me are made up of all different shades of color—not just the standard black, white, brown, and yellow. I imagine they represent 20 different countries.

Read more

Popularity: 1% [?]