I stepped out of the Tower today during a mouse's width-sized lunch break between meetings to quickly scarf down a hot dog (yeah, I'm still eating them) before returning to my cluttered desk and blinking computer screen. The air was thick with the damp density of Summer, but not in a pleasant way. Today was one of those New York City summer days where it seems like even the sidewalks were sweating. As much as I'd have loved to stroll the streets thinking of arguably clever ways to describe how unpleasant it was, I had shit to do. I impatiently lined up behind a gaggle of blubbery, pink-necked tourists whom my hot dog vendor friend (I must learn this man's name) was busily catering to. When the throng slimmed down to a single man, I couldn't help but overhear his exchange with my vendor friend. "Thees," he said in strained pigeon-English, "thees playus -- thees eez thee Taiymz Skwaair, yesh?"
I paused.
As much as I abjectly loathe Times Square, I couldn't quite fathom how someone could not recognize it. I dare say that there are probably people deep in the fetid jungles of New Guinea who could probably identify Times Square if they were presented with an image of it. Still, this gent wasn't quite convinced (despite the multitude of indicators, street signs and stores with names like Times Square Bagels etc. all around him). Perhaps it didn't match his expectations.
Or maybe it's not the immediately recognizable center of the universe after all.
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