Outside my door, 7:30 this morning, a film crew unloads its equipment while the director and production designer look dismayed. They point to this and that; I eavesdrop. Seems when they applied for their permit to film today on our cobblestoned 19th-century street, they were expecting the usual gentle melancholic autumn ambience. Didn’t occur to them that all up the block the stoops would be studded with pumpkins, the railings draped with cobwebs, and the doorways propping up witches.
Meanwhile, at the river, the woman who works with her trainer on Tuesdays and Thursdays three benches down from mine is at it, lifting weights, doing pushups. Her trainer, a large fellow, looms over her, encouraging her, correcting her form. She’s in workout tights and tee shirt. He’s costumed, head to foot, as the Grim Reaper.
I love New York.
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