Monday

With cars honking on the way downstairs I could have been outside. Frankie swept the front hall at 8:06. OK! he said. A young Vietnamese family made Lenox glow. I didn't put on a hat until I'd mailed postcards to my grandparents. I approached the park with a brochure in my pocket, pledging to find The Ravine.

Four tall geese patrolled the western Meer. Ripples and floating scraps glistened. A hockey stick poked from the garbage and the lettering on it pleased me. The rink seemed hard to face unless you liked corporate logos. The only snow left lay in shoveled piles. Fallen leaves looked shiny but weren't at all wet.

Under Huddlestone Arch appeared crates stuffed with a homeless person's things: shoes and maybe an abacus. The tile-ceiling tunnel felt tight. Pants dried draped along waterfall rocks.

Climbing out from The Ravine I wanted to cross through fields. Even baseball diamonds stood fenced. A sign slated them to open mid-April. As I scanned North Meadow my mind rehearsed an argument I'll probably get in this afternoon. A cherry tree's crooked branches suggested a thousand elbows. Benches glimmered. Frozen salted patches dried pink.

Shepherds surrounded an unleashed setter named Liza, sniffing until she strayed beyond their circumference. Nice moves! Liza's owners cried as she paused where the path curved. We dropped to the East Meadow with its hundred autonomous dogs. Some lay on benches with leashes in their mouths. Most sat stationary. Two rolled on top of each other while a rich boy mumbled commands. A woman's exquisitely patterned stockings got me thinking about the Weimar Republic. I climbed back towards E. 98^th very much sensitive to depth and light.

My bright shadow on garden tiles confirmed the momentum of spring. A golf cart sat there with keys on the cushion. A blue jay shrieked then dove in a shrub. I was disappointed not to see any crocus shoots or snowdrops but later, calmer, I noticed that snowdrops and crocus bulbs surrounded me. Magnolia buds almost poked me in the eye. Someone smoked at the far end of an ivy-covered galley (is that even a word?). The sound of a street-sweeping truck made the scene more universal.

A Sunday Magazine drooped where branches stretched across Fifth. At the corner of 5^th and 108^th an attractive black woman stepped through a window: into what turned out to be a stuffy parlor. Somebody placed chairs at an attentive angle to traffic. One lady alternated reading tabloids and staring. Behind her others looked vacant.

On Lexington I spotted Jaguar Restaurant—what an exciting name. At 106^th a glossy poster announced Latino townhall meetings. I wondered if anybody beyond organizers would attend. Political optimism surged through me. An androgynous child sprinted past in a faded leopard-print jacket. A cat slunk down the sidewalk. Will you follow I cried, swerving amidst tremendous glass shards. The cat dove through a sewer grate. A rubble-strewn lot appeared empty but I sensed grackles rooting about. In the adjacent lot a State of New York truck idled, polluted, warmed somebody with a paper.

Hidden by a rooftop ledge sparrows creaked like a wooden wheel. Trains sent pleasing vibes through the shadows. As one male pigeon chased a zigzagging female both pretended this wasn't happening. An African boy unwound the brightest scarf I'd ever seen. A teenager stood staring at the lobby. I tried to not notice. He followed me in.

Tuesday

Luis stopped outside the stairwell to see which resident was coming. He recognized my shoes and passed on. I stepped out wrapped for winter at 8:36. The new Spanish graffiti along our trash bin didn't faze me. The Park Hotel (Lenox) had for once opened its café. The yellow-orange interior reminded me of Café Gitane (Mulberry). Two men sat apart wearing puffy coats. Nobody worked the tables.

I turned left three straight times since I'd never seen the back of my building. It still looked obscure. Across the street stood a 50-yard-dash track barely contained by a sprawling fence (so that you'd have to crash or slow down early). One bald gold-skinned guy walked his daughter to school. They didn't touch but shared an electric bond. One short truck displayed milk packaged in many different volumes.

Continuing north between Robert Taft homes ripped-up bagels remained a constant. I sensed City Choir symbols suggested goodness. They also resembled a police badge. (Like always) one mattress had been tossed out. Somebody I'd never expect to talk to fixed his stare from a long way off. What's your price? he finally said. I turned past giant flowerpots painted to resemble Puerto Rican flags. A dead rat lay with its snout piercing a deli roll (looking cute like that). Most storefronts seemed abandoned campaign offices for City Council or State Assembly.

Further down 116^th, on my way past a prominent A.M.E. church, the song "Iron, Lion, Zion" lingered in my head. When an ambulance passed I didn't plug my ears—out of respect for the neighborhood. Reflections off commuter trains made Barrio Electronics pulse. This lasted longer than expected and got me mystical. Big Mexican flags swelled strung from streetlamps. White people reappeared like flurries.

A woman approached as I watched clouds: Do you have change for a dollar? Sorry I said, like she was a beggar. Her plastic bag had started to rip where the detergent box poked through. Whenever I moved in front my butt tightened. Whenever she passed I watched her hips rock. Wondering if our bodies were saying the same thing I glanced down into a garden-level bakery where the breads looked crusty and real.

116^th soon became a footbridge. Dog poop somehow lined the handrails. The river's green dimples resembled cosines. On my return across the bridge, as I watched a stout man fold where highway kinked, it gradually grew clear that he wasn't stretching but was gesturing lewdly, following crotch thrusts by wiggling a racket between his legs. A police car passed. Rolls of fat peeked out. Drivers honked benevolent rhythms.

I hit Pleasant Avenue—which I'd never heard of, and which seemed to end with the Robert Wagner Homes. It was boring how many businesses put Pleasant in their titles. A park fence curled back so that kids could enter standing. A flyer offered between $100 and $1,000,000 for the return of a greyhound. Another concerned a missing elderly man: frowning, looking Dominican.

114^th felt overwhelmingly Catholic. Two women hailing cabs made the street smell like hairspray. There was some sort of National Catholic Center, a charitable thrift shop, a cylindrical Health Services building from which a Puerto Rican grandmother came smoking as she pushed a carriage (with Keds and chapped teenage-girl shins). Tan Timberland baby boots hung inside consecutive cars. A string of garbage bags had tiny rat holes at their bottoms. A squirrel leapt from one mouthing wadded toilet paper. Black mannequins in beige miniskirts stared down from a fourth-floor balcony.

When I reached 110^th I found the milk truck from before, closed now but idling as its driver read a tabloid. Cups had been stacked where loose barbed wire sagged. A purple zebra could be ridden for a quarter. A New York State employee swept my block with a broom. A girl stopped to ask if I had 15 cent. When I explained (truthfully) I've got nothing, she replied Shit! (more emotional than expected).

Wednesday

Women passed the lobby with their hands in sleeves. But it felt mild for 8:56. I wore my grandpa's windbreaker and just held my gloves. A teenager gnawed an unlit cigar. A pasty professional grabbed his Thai girlfriend at the top of the 2-3 steps. Flower islands stood full of fresh dirt. Plaza traffic flowed north-south.

On 112^th a calm Indian man hosed stairs, curbside garden plots, a gleaming SUV. Spiraling barbed-wire split the roofs. A woman slowed ahead: intrigued by something in her paper. A stoop sign read No Standing/ " Sitting/ " Hopscotch while across the street one stated No Sitting/ No Loud Music/ No Ball Playing/ No Standing. As a super kicked a loveseat past he glanced up imploringly. Cardboard boxes lay strung with orange twine.

Further west hung a sign for Always Organic. I'd never seen this store. I checked its hours. A Japanese girl covered her lip and laughed towards a payphone. A black man also looked vulnerable—pausing on a staircase in his Pittsburgh Steelers jacket.

As I cut across Morningside Park's baseball diamond each step broke cold dirt clumps into soil. With my puffy shoe-heel I kicked a baseball twice. I was worried it might still be frozen at the center. Shredded paper floated on the pond. A well-trained mutt fought off chasing robins.

Halfway up the stairs daffodils unfurled. A coffee scent intensified. A lot of Riverside Park's benches had been removed. Only stone legs remained. Approaching the Hudson I put on my hat. Across the river four identical buildings trailed off to the horizon (New Jersey). A dog owner peeked in a maintenance truck. There's a bag on the trail, the guy said, That um looks like a body.

Where I continued north two women joggers deeply engaged in conversation curved. Before Grant's Tomb hung a flag I'm not familiar with: white dots on vermillion—perhaps Tennessee. Police barricades lined Passive Lawn. I forget the Japanese name of the park this was in (starts with a K). I've always found it promising.

Straying towards the Manhattan School of Music my face stirred with sun for the first time this spring. I wondered if circles under a Sikh security guard's eyes necessarily meant he was tired. I couldn't get around a cute Jamaican with this knitted purple wrap on her head. We just mirrored each other's motion, like in volleyball drills. Shadows played across posted signs. I was glad they were there. I'd never known Morningside Park was so long. From the bottom step rose a shin-high pyramid of toxic-seeming pink crystals. I hurried past without inhaling, crossed cement tagged The Young Guns of 117^th, came upon a young, diamond-eyed black boy earnestly walking a dog for his father.

On 116^th, under Arabic awnings, I appreciated that Muslims emphasize green. African restaurants had fun names, like Slow Down. A taxi had been parallel-parked along the curb; I pictured someone driving it home. I passed a post office I might use sometime. A strapped-in baby's head bobbed as the mother moved gently to catch a bus. People paused to smile at this. Somebody stood and said Do you have even a quarter? He had to hold one lens from his glasses in place. Staff fanned out from a funeral parlor. Sledgehammers started so I turned south.

Banners on the derelict mosque celebrated some scheme called City Lives. Men wearing facemasks dropped debris in a dumpster. A flyer warned Harlem Residents: Your city plans to raise property taxes 200% June 25^th. A woman pushed against a disreputable church.

Inside a boarded-up deli detergent boxes went blank. A grackle picked at buffalo wings. The bird stopped and met my stare from the sidewalk. There were flattened wads of gum all around.

Thursday

I spun out from Kristin's at 8:14 against the enlivening gravelly air. Business people passed by harried and alone. Cement trucks corkscrewed past. Across Greenwich a woman exiting a cab clenched her butt. She was into herself and wore all white.

Around Harrison dusty workers smoked beneath a giant blue Putzmeister crane. Why do fenced-off construction sites make me feel small, lonely and connected to the world? Skyscrapers along the New Jersey coast all looked the same color as my personal checks. One storefront rivaled Milton's description of Chaos. Placards put Jesus in blindfold next to a blind, grinning Mao. Only after a cart filled with recyclables had passed did I realize how oblivious I'd been of its presence. Pomeranians slowed to stare at poodles across the street.

Crowds converged on Citicorp's building as if by gravitational pull. A boy squatting with a laptop smiled (which completely hid his lips). Crossing Canal, listening to a couple murmur inside one car, it felt like I was still sleeping. Ahead of me an architect explained that what people call her quirky designs are just attempts to avoid all this lifelessness. Somebody blind scanned the intersection with his cane. Fingers peeked from a homeless person's quilt. Behind this someone else lay covered. The fresh morning smell had changed to damp boots.

I gazed into the dusty stillness of a sedan's rear dashboard and then there was a bible there. I passed a UPS warehouse in which you could just make out the workers' breaths. West African security guards joked with shippers, who stayed slightly more serious. Nothing rode on the conveyor belts. All of this repeated itself for blocks: 136 parking spaces. Afterwards Fed Ex began which somehow seemed less interesting.

From Perry a jogger passed in shorts and I remembered I'd soon see a lot of flesh in public. Kids grouped around a crossing guard might have all been models. Preoccupied women strode past in leather pants. Two bags of piss leaned against a tree. Two rotund men in shades wore their blue and white headdress like Yasser Arafat's. Everybody else stood walking a dog. A basset pup wouldn't sniff a magnolia, no matter how aggressive its owner's commands.

Crossing Jane I looked just as a mother yawned; I felt a part of this. A dad and son drank blue Elixir concoctions through straws. Amidst bobbing tulips I saw that Congress opened Alaska for 24 billion barrels of oil. At Taylor's Bakery blonde women sipped chai as their daughters sampled rice-krispie squares.

Shimmering lawns surrounded St. Luke in the Fields, restored my faith in the variety of birds. I got lost remembering songs by The Smiths. A sophisticated old black woman held up a coffee-stand line asking why she'd only been charged a dollar fifty. A prep cook shielded his gold-toothed smile. Construction guys turned to watch a redhead pass. The shortest carried bags of gears on his shoulder. As I crossed he said Except she'd only be wearing ski boots.

In an alcove on Jay a cop and his daughter shared a chocolate doughnut with pink jimmies. A knife knocked chicken cubes along a deli counter. I stepped through scattered proof pages chopped in thirds. My biggest criticism of nurses, one read, is that they often treat the patient to fit the pattern. Your nurse thinks, "I've got four patients to bathe before coffee break." The feeling she communicates is, "You're going to brush your teeth whether you like it or not." I flipped the scrap over: After I returned home from the hospital that winter [1978], I would crawl up stairs on my hands and knees. I was too unsteady to walk.

Without conscious effort I turned west on Duane, avoided the TV mounted at Chambers. Brothers did push-ups along the pavement with someone about sixty smiling above them. An onion stood against a scooter wheel beside the entrance steps to Salaam Bombay. The garbage bins overflowed with nan.

An old man on a treadmill wore headphones, cotton slacks, wingtips. I wondered how it felt to wear one woman's heels. Across from Baluchi's somebody told her boyfriend All this shit happened before your ass. Everything reflected off nearby windows, where waiters dished out chutneys.

Friday

Fearing bronchitis I slept through the alarm and didn't get out until 9:15. From the courtyard sparrows whistled on either side. The day felt complete, a little tiring even. A police officer propped against a red door frowned when my glance made him self-conscious. It turns out the building east of mine's a corrections facility. I'd always thought it was a school.

Sudsy water along the curb made Fifth Ave. expansive and sensual. Bedrooms projected a broadcaster's voice. I can't remember crossing commuter tracks. Along the James Weldon Johnson Homes a black woman pointed at a white man's chest: You should have attended the meeting I assigned! Audiocassette tape dangled from branches. Somebody called to a seventh-floor window I'm optimistic cause they said come back on Monday. Cars proclaimed themselves Trinidadian with red-and-white-striped everything. Sparrows guarding sliced wheat toast stayed surprisingly adept at repulsing pigeons. A dirtbike abandoned next to boxes spun its wheels.

From 125^th people on train platforms seemed glamorous and made of vapor. Asians assessed a storefront with all its wiring exposed. A woman with crutches propped herself to wait for the 101. Groups stood outside delis now that it was warm. The Bus Stop Kitchenette was packed; the diner-exhaust smell made me think of families.

Pink and beige balloons had become entwined to the back of a building called TRICHA 6. Within a block the streets turned barren. Spotting stuffed animals restored some inner strength. Both contact lenses began to flutter. When loud teens approached I stared ahead with a sense of purpose. A stream poured from one eye. I feigned wiping a nostril, just to somehow gesture, then lunged bizarrely towards them as they passed.

Amidst Abraham Lincoln Homes a statue caressed a rising black boy's cheek. Cars veered around garbage bins wedged into potholes. Cigarettes lined the curb: McGeorge or something. A Peter Pan coach sped by en route to Boston and I remembered being sad to leave the city like this.

Where the Madison Avenue Bridge began a crushed grape jelly jar spread across pavement. I'd ascended out among tan projects. Industrial currents brought on a headache, made me feel like the product of furious whittling. When I bent I found photographs of Bill Clinton. He looked angelic. An old guy in a Yankees cap biked around construction barrels. Demolished cars below had prices chalked across dashboards.

On the trip back to Manhattan I sensed that from one New York bridge you can always see others. A man slowed, saluted, said How you feeling chief? Wondering if Bronx people are extra friendly I made a Cuban jogger frown wishing her hello. My jacket pocket swelled and grazed a taut kid's thigh. An older Puerto Rican peddled down Madison at just my pace. His bicycle gears creaked. The harmony with my mood and general worldview was exquisite. Beside people in wheelchairs waiting for busses a pale boy chewed on lottery printouts. A big white Italianate house's gingerbread drew me west. Someone around forty leaned from his van to engage twins dropping carpet at the curb. Two guys alternated squats on a Soloflex machine. They knew everybody.

The occasional white person crossing Lenox looked relieved to have me to fixate on. A drunken blonde in drag said Honey don't tell me you don't have a quarter. Rice covered sidewalk but there wasn't any church. An abandoned wheelchair blew against trash. A Jewish woman with a chihuahua in her bag asked if we were at all close to Columbus. The dog crouched (quiet and attentive).

Across 112^th a Dominican man got lost imagining an argument. His voice kept coming as the distance grew between us. Beneath scaffolds I dodged dust clouds as debris hit dumpsters. By then it had to be about fifty degrees.