Monday, March 10, 2008
I walked quickly up Park Avenue, in stride with a woman dressed in an expensive sweat suit. I was hurrying to catch a train; she was hurrying to dry her nails. Her bright red, newly manicured fingers were outstretched, even as she carried a tiny shopping bag that probably held her keys and wallet and glasses. She’d done this before; she knew how to prepare. Nothing fancy; it was a bag she could use to carry essentials without having to dig around in a small, enclosed compartment that would ruin her paint.
She was also hurrying because she was cold. It was 40° and she was nearly barefoot! It was apparent she’d also had a pedicure; the flip-flops she wore freed her matching bright red toes to dry in the fresh, crisp, nearly frigid New York air. They don’t call it concrete canyons for nothing! The cold, biting winds sweep down between buildings and along side streets, ensuring that the hard concrete sidewalks remain equally cold and biting.
She hesitated for a step or two at the red light, but didn’t want to stand and accumulate more cold. Her impatience got the better of her and she turned to cross the wide divided boulevard before I got to Grand Central. I was sorry to see her go.