The sight was so comforting – a man in rainboots on the subway platform.
It was a Friday morning and it was grey. Rain and a chill were in the air. Without any ceremony New York had ushered in that time of year when we start to move back indoors.
It is a melancholic time – the saying of goodbyes to the summer sun and the breezes at the beach. The streets are strewn with yellow leaves.
I walked through Grand Central and noticed how little was going on. Financier, with its divine pastries, was shuttered. The main lobby was empty. Normally, on a weekday morning, crowds would crisscross each other, trying to get to a ticket booth or train. I could have roller-skated across the floor and had it all to myself.
I looked up and Cipriani’s – where I recently had drinks with friends – was gone, to be replaced by a white, steel scaffold. But when I looked up again the ceiling was glorious. The beautiful blue-green was bright, and the stars shined. It was dull when I was a little girl and I took my first train trip upstate. Then there was a massive Kodak photograph on the east balcony. Now there’s the Apple store. When I walked around the corner I found my Zaro’s (family bakery, established 1927). The aroma was heavenly, and I happily purchased a bag of croissants for tomorrow’s breakfast.
On Park Avenue, it was dark. The rain continued coming down. It was fine, though. This is New York. Grey, and chilly. The season has arrived. The season of indoors. Of sweaters and cups of tea. Of books and quiet music. The subway, filled with people once more. In rainboots.
On a chilly, grey day in October.