It'll have to be bitingly cold right now, and people in black overcoats will stride purposefully on Manhattan streets with their hands dug into deep fleece-lined pockets. The sun has made the city a lighter shade of grey and green but gives it no warmth. Hot-dog vendors on street corners and people milling around book-stalls. Display windows of the stalls will reveal covers that shout: 10 sex myths busted; Get it right on the first date!; Veronika Zemanova!
As you walk on concrete blocks, mindful not to bump into others, you cannot make out men and women from a distance. Overcoats leave you asexual. The scent of freshly-salted fries drifts through an open door and touches the edge of your nostrils, tempting you to succumb to a King Size meal at eleven am. You peer inside; there are people in there, at eleven am, having a double-whopper. You walk past the Mid-Manhattan library remembering the books you forgot to return and fleetingly panic about the fine. To your left is the New York public library, the one with the two giant stone lions outside. There are people on the steps, having a sandwich, reading papers, seemingly oblivious to the biting cold. What kind of people sit on stone when it's near-zero? Anyway, a little further down is a cigar shop. With a green sign and gold lettering.
Grand Central - down the street, past Madison Avenue and the fun-looking restaurant I've never been to - is filled with people. The gloves come off, for it is hot in here. The coat comes off as well. There is a buzz here and you take it in. People walk by you, bump into you, stand beside you, pull out maps. On the left is a series of tunnels that take you away from New York. You turn away; you haven't had enough of New York. You don't know when you'll have had enough of New York.