Eighty-five thousand new cases reported in America yesterday, another record smashed in a year with too many records broken. Here in New York, people are still dining outside in the autumn chill, determined log as much time outdoors as possible before the weather confines us to our tiny apartments.
There aren’t many visitors to the city these days. It’s nice to have the sidewalks to ourselves, but I miss how the tourists would remind me to look up. Sometimes I’d see a family on a corner in Midtown, gazing up slack-jawed at the dizzying buildings, and I’d realize I should this more often. The gargoyles and friezes, the dignified stonework and dramatic arches that have weathered everything.
