How to Spend an Afternoon in New York City

It’s 60 degrees and a Saturday. I put on my contact lenses, sunscreen, lipstick, perfume; I picked an outfit that’s slightly more dramatic than usual, and off I went to hang out in the City.

I took the 7 train, then the 4 train, and got off at 86th Street on the Upper East Side. I walked past the century-old apartment buildings along with their 50-year-old doormen. I studied the gothic relief on the wall, the red bricks and the brownstones. I walked behind a diverse group of preppy college guys chatting about school. I walked in front of two middle-aged Latina women discussing their friend’s kids — a 22 year-old, an 18 year-old, and a 14 year-old. All of us were heading towards the same destination — the Metropolitan Museum of Art, right on the eastern edge of Central Park.

A few exhibitions down, I ended up at the hot dog stand right outside the museum entrance. I bought a bottle of gatorade and sat down on the infamous museum staircase, where the Gossip Girls used to sit. Except this time, I was with a few hundred other museum goers from all around the world. That black saxophone street artist was still there, playing decade-old Chinese pop songs he learned while he was living in China. The familiar sound of ice cream trucks was also in the air, along with the fluttering wings of pigeons fighting over fries left on the ground, and people chatting about everything and nothing.

A few stairs away, a young couple just sat down, arms embracing one another. Further up the stairs, a hippie girl was waiting for her friend group to gather — she had a large angel wings tattoo on her waist, nestled right below a tight crop top. Standing behind the girl, a French woman in a pair of grass-green pants was chatting with an elegant European man dressed in black, both in their 40s. Elsewhere, an Indian family of 6 were lounging in a row, sharing ice cream and organizing their backpacks.

It was a typical New York crowd.

I took out my subway reading - Nine Short Stories by J.D. Salinger - and started on a new short: “Just Before the War with the Eskimos”. It is about the encounter of a teenage girl back around the WWII period, in the hallway of an Upper East Side apartment, waiting for her friend to return the money she borrowed. A story that could be occurring right now, above me on the 20th floor of one of those apartment buildings in a nearby block.

The saxophone player began to play some really outdated songs that I hate, and it started to get chilly. I stood up and left the staircase.

Heading east, I hopped on a bicycle and began to cruise downtown along the Second Avenue. I passed by a bunch of bars and their patrons celebrating — I mean really celebrating — St. Patrick’s Day. I passed by a grocery store named Grace’s Market. I passed by my old neighborhood, Murray Hill, as well as its gigantic cinema. I passed by a dead rat lying on the curb. Finally, around the golden hour, I went on the Brooklyn Bridge and saw the river from above. It was gorgeous, and I was going full speed. Cars were passing by in the opposite direction on another lane, separated by metal fence. “Wo-hoo!” A man suddenly cheered from a car that quickly drove away.

“Wo-hoo!” I responded back.