vip in the city

Washout

SK invited me to a belated birthday lunch at Lemongrass Grill — my fifth day back in the country and already back on the Vietnamese food. Friday’s suddenly sunny skies had beckoned every downtown office drone into the streets; those not in the park were huddled around every available television set broadcasting the Germany-Argentina quarter-final. By the time the match went to penalty kicks, the din from the bar area had drowned out any possibility of conversation over spring rolls and papaya salads. But just as soon as it was over, the fans dispersed with remarkable speed, absorbed back into the glass and concrete towers from whence they came.

En route to the Wall Street station — with plenty of daylight still left, truly one of best things about summer — I was looking forward to spending an evening on a blanket in Central Park, where Joan Didion would be reading from her 2005 National Book Award winning work, The Year Of Magical Thinking.

But by the time I set out for the park 90 minutes later, the clouds had rolled back in, unleashing yet another storm of water.

So no Didion. I returned to the apartment, trading my blanket for an umbrella, and set out for a walk. Over at Lincoln Center, the Midsummer Night Swing musicians were packing up their instruments, and the plaza was cleared of dancers, save one lone couple swaying together in the drizzle.

Out front, an installation of boats — in progress:

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