People In The Park

At Central Park I moved on finally from Virginia Woolf's The Waves to New York's literary bad boy Don DeLillo's Americana, which is proving to be an incredible read. (DD is my new hero). What's not to love with writing like this:

"You can tell something about a woman by listening to her footsteps on a flight of stairs. As she climbs toward your landing and takes the level walk past your door and then begins to climb again, you can say with some assurance whether she is shapely, impulsive, churlish, simpering, tired, witty or unloved. It is interesting to speculate on the curve of her ankles, how her apartment is furnished, whether or not she believes in a supreme being."

So I spent the entire Sunday at Central Park, picnicking with people in a line. We were queueing for free tickets to Shakespeare in the Park's production of Twelfth Night. I waited in line till about 7 in the evening.

Ask anyone about this Public Theatre thing, and they'll tell you to head EARLY. The first person in the queue arrived at 11pm the previous night, a bunch of six girls who must have had a blast sleeping over in the park. I only joined them at 8 in the morning, and as you can imagine I was right at the back of the queue that would not stop growing. When they finished handing out tickets at about 1 in the afternoon, there were just three people in front of me, and the ushers told us we had a high chance of getting standby tickets in the evening. I knew I had brought three books out for a good reason!

The morning, afternoon and early-evening was spent thus in pleasant company of a thai man from LA, architect-to-be from Seattle, his Danish girlfriend, and her friend Dawn, who has an amazing voice (I quickly become smitten: she is absolutely lovely). They sang songs, shared their mixed berries and nuts, and towels and pillows and stories. And to top it all off the play was absolutely excellent, and finally at 11 in the evening I leave the park happy, with sunburn on my shoulders.