Monday

Six people rode the elevator down (a record). I exited Kristin's at 8:29. Boys paced before a school as though they'd never met. My blood felt cold far beneath the skin. Pedestrians grimaced or faced away from each other. The only bikers wore facemasks.

Near the Hudson the mini-golf course smelled like tires. Aspens tipped on a couple greens. Somebody silhouetted watched barges. Someone bald looked embarrassed to photograph the river's surface. The trapeze academy for adults was 4 bare towers and a shed. The bike-rental stand stood shuttered. Passing lines of flexible posts I fought off the urge to slalom.

Pylons rose from water conflating perspectives, like Klimt's paintings of trees. A floating branch reminded me of antlers. Another stuck straight up like a spear. The western sky seemed a separate river. I passed a bundle of mini Stop-signs and fences stacked into one thick curve. Pier 40 gently buzzed. Beyond its gate a sports field glowed. From his shed a security guard smiled like he'd have let me in if he could.

Big wooden doors sat painted a blue I always love walking along. A party boat I'll often see crowded bobbed on slurpy cables. I peeked through a rusty slit into a warehouse. The emptiness hung iridescent with river echoes and light. The highest windows had duct-tape x's.

From the pier's westernmost point I felt about a third of the way to New Jersey. The Lackawanna sign hummed so that I could have sat staring. Benches constructed of recyclable plastic were almost the same as wood. A startled jogger asked How are you? but didn't slow down.

Stenciled fish led to kiosks for announcements and awards. Photos showed black kids freezing in canoes. A kayaker brooded but maintained a swift pace. A floating volleyball spun amidst trash. With a little water in front of it Tribeca looked just like Hoboken. A dog I never saw sneezed.

On Houston a pigeon stalked near traffic: only once pecking at a bag. Graffiti showed someone point a finger at his temple. Surrounding captions read New York Needs A Release, Religion Is Laziness, Shivering In The Night. Palpable darkness as I crossed through garages resembled a pause between film reels. Peeled-off poster scraps sank into sidewalk. Twins jogged in place as trucks pulled out.

Just below Canal someone paused to smoke the instant his suitcase cleared a vestibule. His shirt flapped dramatically unbuttoned. He was forty. A Taiwanese woman with a hardhat crouched above a computer. A stylish mom screamed Goodbye! into a phone without actual momentum. A spotted dog turned to bark at another once their masters separated.

On Duane I passed a patisserie in which I've always envied everyone. I cut into Washington Market Park—where the playground apparatus expands each spring. I circled the fenced-off grass wondering if fuzz meant cherries were about to bloom. The gazebo could be reserved again. The sight of a shed made me want to talk with somebody. It bothered me that most spruce had browned.

In the New York Sports Club a woman on a treadmill hunched highlighting a passage. Steps before Kristin's I closed my eyes. Whirrings and drills surrounded me. There was an architectural order to these sounds. It felt like a train slowed creaking overhead. Two figures in facemasks varnished the lobby.

Tuesday

I left convinced I wouldn't want a jacket. But at 8:36 it wasn't true. Triple-ply windows leaned against Lincoln Corrections Facility. I looked back at them and felt boxed out of life. As an old woman disappeared behind maintenance trucks I heard her call out Morning. Continuing counterclockwise around The Meer she discovered a playground's Euclidean calm. A pigeon landed near somebody's bicycle tire. Hownk! Hownk! the middle-aged rider screamed. Get out of my way dumb bird.

Sun rippling off water made nearby stones pulse. In one flowerbed swaths of daffodils had bloomed. In others individual shoots had sprung. Either scene made me want to shout Yes! One goose looked stunned and puritanical standing on a rock with wet black feet. One male duck crept towards a napping female who paddled off. One flashing police car pushed me up into a fence. I was shivering.

The Conservatory Gardens' bathroom sat poignant and appealing, smelling of spring and zoos. Amidst chattering park workers I felt aimless. Clusters of tulips and narcissi (Marilyn, Jetfire) took shape as they climbed. Shredded plastic caught in branches made me think Francis Scott Key.

Kids signed exams against a school wall. A maroon van's dashboard read C-L-E-R-G-Y in gothic font. A homeless guy flipped to the Times Op-Ed. An attractive woman stepped from the laundromat saying So then I told him I think you have problems and need to seek help. A mounted jaguar photograph was somehow the portrait of a sexy vain boy. A man crossed Third Ave. with his dog's sparkly heart-shaped tags tinkling. A sparrow fumbled then flew off with either a cheetoh or cigarette filter.

Along the East River Projects somebody in a wheelchair said I can't I um got a building inspection. It sounded like he was stalling. Grackles fought over fried-eggplant strips which probably none would end up eating. Out of pure altruism I told one shy girl I really like your dachshund.

As always when I hit the East River an adult with a German shepherd jogged but otherwise paths lay empty. In front of Ward's Island the water's shimmer pulled apart. A faded sign read S  dium. A band of tiny alternative ducks both slept and looked out for each other. Turning north I felt sunbeams sparkle in my hair. Paint peeled off the 111^th St. Bridge in giant strips like wallpaper. Tulip bulbs from the shadows swayed.

Windshield wipers held parking tickets along tiered, middle-income housing projects I always forget the name of. One car with the proper permit had its windshield shattered. Someone had drawn an ironic dick on the hood. Someone's van stood airbrushed with the names of famous musicians: Celia Cruz, Tito Puente. Other themes for this vehicle were Puerto Rico and Fireman.

Atop a security camera above 112^th a sparrow scratched behind the ear. A mom walked between two boys so small she could barely reach them. From the corner someone called Hey gorgeous sunshine how you feeling? Beyond him a mural placed martinis beside crashed sportscars oozing blood. Humble Latinos in Foodstamp ads made me think I might qualify. Two sparrows shared a pizza slice without any cheese or tomato sauce left. Two men cried No fucking way! and Holy shit! as they approached. Others gathered around a Peruvian woman pouring tan liquid (not coffee) into paper cups.

After dozens of commutes to a distant library I found the local branch 4 blocks east. I got dirty looks brushing against double-parked cars. A sign near the bus stop announced $2000 Penalties For Idling Engines. Its symbol suggested global warming. Finally, I thought.

Men dropped garbage bags from a second-story patio (gently—so they wouldn't split). On my way past Lincoln Corrections a guard burst out giggling, said Reminds me of something happened at home last night. He coughed and couldn't elaborate.

Wednesday

Because I first had to brush my teeth I left Kristin's hungry and forgot to check the time. This was around 9:50. Gee Whiz Diner customers salted eggs with neutral faces. A liquor store's mopped tiles dried against the breeze. Most people stood balanced by headphones and a paper coffee cup. Some had bare arms.

Crossing Hudson I hallucinated oncoming cabs. I was just panicking because the intersection's not perpendicular. A woman under an awning explained I had a second, so I thought I'd call. A couple with a baby frowned, cold, seated at the Belgian pub's sidewalk table and I wondered if this is always the case. A boy propped in a sixth-floor bedroom talked by phone with women at the curb. I wondered why he didn't poke his head out and scream. A delivery man bent comparing a customer's printout against his own pink copy—blinked to signify confusion.

Two teenage moms asked directions to Franklin so faintly I almost kept walking. Stylish young people in a plot below Canal were actually engineers discussing where to set a fountain. Squat men whose ethnicity I couldn't place leaned parallel to the street, pushing a creaky Sabrett cart through a red light as a bus approached. Further up Thompson French sous-chefs lingered, exhaled (gathering momentum to unlock the front door). Somebody African steered a forklift from a trailer. He seemed to smile and begin showing off. Behind him a voice yelled Cut! Cut!

The dog that I asked How long have you been tied? turned to follow my progress past a deli. A dark cat framed by iron grids preempted any question with a yellow stare. As I burst past an Australian he said in his phone Take all the time you want honey. This made me feel bad; I'd stuck an arm up between us to imply a wall.

Just south of Washington Square smelled tropical. Orange snowplows stood stacked facedown. Ahead someone on a cane shouted It's Stanley. I'm at NYU.

Pushing north I passed two chess players with 25 and 19 seconds remaining. A girl stopped to ask the time. As I felt though my backpack for my phone she wanted to bond about us not wearing watches. I wondered if what we were approaching was the Flatiron Building.

Turning left I trailed kids in Red Sox shirts. Two had open facial cuts. I slowed to get away from their aggressive voices. Other pedestrians did the same. Finally I let everyone leave me behind: watched a sparrow call out from the traffic light. A thick chain strung around hyacinths only attached to itself.

Across 6^th Ave. tall blonde women with briefcases and high heels sprinted. It felt like a commercial. Once I'd cleared the debris from a Day and Night Rubbish Removal truck I stopped to take off my sweater. One frail black woman set up a sidewalk table. For now there was just vague incense aroma. I glimpsed sky between magnolia blossoms. I slapped the Jefferson Market Library and called it My good friend.

Near 17^th I wove through police convoys—partially losing consciousness because of sirens. Beside a bank a fat boy muttered I bet half those assholes don't know where they're driving. Somebody whistled and someone in a short white skirt looked up. She smiled and I crossed Sixth behind her. A rich man squatted reading the Post with a green bandanna and long gray beard. More interested in him now, his phoniness, I barely noticed when construction guys flipped at the short white skirt. One dropped to his knees to better look, but only from far enough away it didn't count.

Mirrors in 26^th St. stands depicted Michael Jordan dunking on people. Someone Senegalese pointed fingers and affirmed Yes! This is where you get your bargain! Along 5^th I passed a bus-stop androgyne standing contrapposto like Tadzio (Death in Venice). He had braces. Cabs blew hot dust. Someone in a pink mohawk crossed, then I saw the same thing on a phone-booth advertisement, then a lesbian professional passed with just pink hair. I'd planned to pause outside the Graduate Center but instead swerved between cigarettes.

Thursday

At 8:06 a woman said thanks for letting her in the lobby. She seemed to have been waiting a while. My plan to see both rivers collapsed when I spotted red fuzz in Central Park. A boy split from his girlfriend, spun around and walked backwards. A man stepped stiffly as if he wore clogs. White daffodils made the morning look catered. A sleeping swan looked flat. A mini shipwreck floated in The Meer. I wondered how deep its water got.

Along the opposite shore two denim-clad women turned black against bright sun. Passing a different woman I for no reason tripped and almost staggered into rushes. A plaque about the baldcypress started These deciduous conifers.... I spaced out on its music. A seagull's wing bled.

Happy Café (concession stand) had finally reopened. As the Chicano clerk returned my Hi he worked heavy suds into a plastic counter. A cyclist interrupted this pleasant exchange screaming On your left! and my daughter's behind me!

I curved with the Gardens' old brick wall. A female cardinal confirmed why the word smoldering is sexy. Within budding tulips an entire universe seemed to touch. The narcissi resembled girls sticking out their chests.

Workers left the far gate locked; I had to exit on 5^th to continue south. Someone passed reading a book which must have been the bible given its font. A separate woman waiting for the bus slapped her palm with a brown umbrella. A two-toned hearse looked surprisingly short. I took a running leap back into the park.

Where I landed a rich Caribbean lady had a wild silver streak in her hair. Her collie blanked when a pit bull appeared but the pit bull accosted two tinier dogs: overrunning them so that it could approach from behind. Two homeless figures lay head to head with hats across the faces. Someone came from bushes carrying a needle. His eyebrows alone would have made me flinch. A boy hoisted a branch like a purpose he'd discovered. This park hollow was cooler and mistier than the rest.

Ascending East Meadow ridge I saw Latino men in stride. I guessed they were playing soccer. I dropped down plains wondering how people can flow so well without being more effective on offense—as if secretly no one wanted to score that many goals.

Pigeons cooed inside a sealed stone house along the reservoir. A jogger's Keds made me think Beauty parlor. Another had a rainbow scarf tucked in her spandex. It was all I noticed the next quarter-mile. The water's surface never stopped changing. With distant towers sliding past every moment should have felt complete.

The southern stretch (around 85^th) smelled like a small Midwestern lake. This made me feel close to my family. Beyond the joggers on the track's far edge ran two more rings of cross-country people. Two women passed at a similar pace but with totally different bodies. Tan guys' legs glowed against neon shorts. Penguin-looking ducks skidded down, descending on a mallard couple. The female flew away fastest. The others followed her underwater.

A Filipina climbing the outer bend spit into shivering leaves yards off. A half-Japanese jogger glimmered through foliage. A dog-walker in tight pink t-shirt proved some people don't have to work so hard. Stray irises unfurled as I entered The Ravine. Woodpeckers shared a disintegrating branch. They spun around searching for the right spot to pierce.

Accelerating down steps toward the waterfall I vowed to stride boldly forever. Climbing back to Lasker Rink I met a stocky blue jay. An Asian man watched sparrows from what seemed the perfect distance. A turtle craned its neck from the drying rock.

Friday

From the courtyard I could tell I needed a jacket. On the climb upstairs my throat tingled. I'd hoped storms would temper allergies but Yuki my roommate stood clutching her head.

Finally at 8:56 I passed Puerto Rican girls smoothing bangs before the lobby mirror with Elton John singing "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart" in the background. I turned east under new surveillance cameras. I felt conscious of seagulls' plumpness as they hovered beside lampposts. In front of Schaumburg Towers a hearse driver took his hat off and looked untrustworthy with slick gray hair. Traffic honked behind him. From Duke Ellington Circle I couldn't gauge what was graffiti and what commercial, especially the part that read Chocolate Mami.

Piled garbage bags waited to be gathered. Misery seemed preventable in a city. A pit contained plastic soccer balls with some pentagonal plates missing. A project's grass was the first thing absolutely green. A wrestler doll plummeted then landed face-up. The other white person past Lexington chuckled. She happened to be appealing. Striding along amidst her soothing heels it didn't seem right to say we weren't communicating.

I cut down Third past a crowded doughnut shop: curious if windows displayed real bricks or wallpaper. Have landlords given up on this street? A banner promised Tax Return Fa$t. A microwave lay in dew at the curb with the cord wrapped neatly around it. At P.S. 72 (now a Latino Community Center) every ungrated window had been pelted with rocks. Shrieking kid voices echoed up a stairwell. Slavic grandmas stopped and blinked.

I wound through the Gardens. It seemed crazy not to. Familiar bushes had abruptly flared yellow. Pollen rippled across walkways like desert sands. Rain-beaten narcissi bent over. I wanted to tell them theirs was a tragic death, like Hamlet's. I hoped crushed stargazers knew they'd died in pairs. Half of what I'd thought were magnolias are really something else. These mystery petals laced the Woodland Slope. A dogwalker got vicarious thrill from me; she kept passing just to smile. The only species name I didn't forget was Sweet Harmony (narcissus).

Ascending an unofficial trail I hit soaked stretches and identified with moss. From North Meadow's ridge I looked out—all alone. Single joggers solidified against trees. Groundsworkers leveled the softball diamonds. I pushed west under damp growth and loud birds. As an approaching taxi curved with the drive I decided many events reach me that way.

But surrounded by thick brown marsh I wanted to be home. This had never happened on a previous walk. My girlfriend might move to Massachusetts. Someone's positioned herself to take over my apartment. Next year I'll again have less income than before.

I avoided eye contact with an Asian couple who obviously wanted their picture taken. They didn't approach the sneezing nun behind me either. Stray yellow clovers restored my secret confidence. Weary boys watched a supervisor distribute gloves.

On church steps opposite the Stranger's Gate someone used a wheelchair as storage locker. A Japanese girl never stopped singing as she passed. It turned out to be much later than expected. Still I took The Meer all the way to Lenox St. Playground. A gate fluttered open. A goose slept on one leg. Another crouched like that staring. The Discovery Center bathrooms looked bleached and civic. The front hall stood silent. I slipped off sneakers not wanting to track mud.