Walking places; walking past Madison Square Gardens, Times Square, 42nd Street, Broadway, to Central Park, 5th Avenue, back to Central Park losing my bearings and coming back down on the West Side, dinner in an reasonable Italian restaurant where I only understood half of what my waiter was saying through his New York Italian accent, Times Square again this time come alive as night falls.
The photography exhibition at the Guggenheim, "Speaking with Hands", a huge range of expressive photographs, some brilliant, mainly focused around the human hand. Horrifying in the context was the stark image of a young boy from Sarajevo with both hands recently amputated.
The mother failing to explain an abstract phallic sculpture entitled "Princess X" to her young daughter. Another mother replying to her daughters exclamation "Mummy, why is he naked!?" after seeing a statue of Perseus "why not? He's beautiful." The inevitable "Where's that? It says Rouen Cathedral. Is that in Paris?"
Aesthetic overload; hours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, staying until exhausted but still failing to see vast areas. Some names to remember; O'Keeffe, Courbert, Balthus, others I should remember but don't. I never seem to have a pen on me when I'm in a gallery.
People around trains: chatting to an anonymous migrated Englishman commenting on the weather over the 20 years since he left, the woman ignored by the ticket inspector trying hard to demonstrate she had paid to be on the train, a brief confusion with the whitefaced dreadlocked "Bobo the clown" as we both tried to go home via the same bit of platform.