The Q train finally arrives.
Eric met her at the top of the staircase. He was there waiting as she emerged from the subway station. He was there, and so were two hundred other people. In the city, at Union Square, you had no reason to feel alone. Even if people weren't with you, they didn't make you feel lonely by paying no attention to you as happens in other areas of the city. At Union Square they pay attention to you whether you like it or not. They show their interest. They ask you questions. The reach out to you. They put themselves out there. It's a place to be. It's a place to be with. It's a place to be with others.
I think Washington Square used to be this place. Washington Square Park was a place for everyone, a place for everything. Now, now it is under construction. Now, it has been fenced off for a couple of years. You can go there. You can be there. There, you can be, but you can't be with. The chain link fence does away with that possibility. That possibility has been transferred ten blocks north, Union Square. When someone says, "I'll meet you at the Barnes and Noble in Manhattan" which one do they mean? Which one do you think of automatically? Which one could it be? For all of the locations it could point to, if someone says without further qualifications that they will meet you at Barnes and Noble, they must mean the one at Union Square. It is the Barnes and Noble in Manhattan. Don't think it is the one at Lincoln Square. That one doesn't even count. The Union Square Barnes and Noble is it. It is huge. It is large. It is filled. It is eventful. Last week, I passed through to use the bathroom, and do you know who was there to read? On a random day, I walk through, and who just happens to be there ready to read? Orhan Pamuk, the Nobel Prize winning Turkish writer. This is why this is New York. It's kind of weird. It's kind of, Isn't this too intentional to be cool? Isn't this too commercial, too produced to be valuable? I don't know.
I know that riding downtown on the local four train at one in the morning I see a guy with a long purple knit cap that stretches down the length of his back and down the length of his legs almost touching the floor. He is wearing black and piercings. He is the new elf. He is a New York elf. We do this to entertain ourselves. It's all to entertain ourselves. At Union Square station where I transfer to the Q train, two young hipsters pull out guitars and sing their emo-tunes into the echoing expanse of the emptied station platforms. We are there, the half a dozen people who happen to be out at 1:23AM. These guys, with their small fedoras, longish greasy hair and their bright, almost raspy voices give sense to the situation: "Oh, of course, this is why I am here at this time at this place. I am listening to indie rockers. It's right that I should be here. They're entertaining me." You move down the platform in their direction. You want to be near them. You get close enough to hear them at short range, but you're still on the other side of the staircase where they can't see you. Other people pass by to get closer, in visible range of the early morning performers. They are doing a good job. You are not annoyed. Fortunately, you are not too tired to be annoyed. You are enlivened. Now the platform has over a dozen people on it, spread out over the length of the station. More people gather to the singer-guitarists. They are happy. They are happy. They music is okay. You wouldn't pick it, but this is more than music. This is the moment. The beauty of 1:26AM, an empty platform, and two musicians singing for the echo. The Q train finally arrives.
I think Washington Square used to be this place. Washington Square Park was a place for everyone, a place for everything. Now, now it is under construction. Now, it has been fenced off for a couple of years. You can go there. You can be there. There, you can be, but you can't be with. The chain link fence does away with that possibility. That possibility has been transferred ten blocks north, Union Square. When someone says, "I'll meet you at the Barnes and Noble in Manhattan" which one do they mean? Which one do you think of automatically? Which one could it be? For all of the locations it could point to, if someone says without further qualifications that they will meet you at Barnes and Noble, they must mean the one at Union Square. It is the Barnes and Noble in Manhattan. Don't think it is the one at Lincoln Square. That one doesn't even count. The Union Square Barnes and Noble is it. It is huge. It is large. It is filled. It is eventful. Last week, I passed through to use the bathroom, and do you know who was there to read? On a random day, I walk through, and who just happens to be there ready to read? Orhan Pamuk, the Nobel Prize winning Turkish writer. This is why this is New York. It's kind of weird. It's kind of, Isn't this too intentional to be cool? Isn't this too commercial, too produced to be valuable? I don't know.
I know that riding downtown on the local four train at one in the morning I see a guy with a long purple knit cap that stretches down the length of his back and down the length of his legs almost touching the floor. He is wearing black and piercings. He is the new elf. He is a New York elf. We do this to entertain ourselves. It's all to entertain ourselves. At Union Square station where I transfer to the Q train, two young hipsters pull out guitars and sing their emo-tunes into the echoing expanse of the emptied station platforms. We are there, the half a dozen people who happen to be out at 1:23AM. These guys, with their small fedoras, longish greasy hair and their bright, almost raspy voices give sense to the situation: "Oh, of course, this is why I am here at this time at this place. I am listening to indie rockers. It's right that I should be here. They're entertaining me." You move down the platform in their direction. You want to be near them. You get close enough to hear them at short range, but you're still on the other side of the staircase where they can't see you. Other people pass by to get closer, in visible range of the early morning performers. They are doing a good job. You are not annoyed. Fortunately, you are not too tired to be annoyed. You are enlivened. Now the platform has over a dozen people on it, spread out over the length of the station. More people gather to the singer-guitarists. They are happy. They are happy. They music is okay. You wouldn't pick it, but this is more than music. This is the moment. The beauty of 1:26AM, an empty platform, and two musicians singing for the echo. The Q train finally arrives.
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Thank you.