We went to the new High Line yesterday. Cities around the world aspire to have a park like this, but urban renewal began with the art galleries and cafes; the High Line is a finishing touch. The architects improved many of the park’s original aspects; namely, the ability to sit and relax. There are beautiful darkwood bleachers that overlook a thick green turf. Bodies spangle the lawn. We wondered if it will continue to looks so lush or if it will soon be trodden.
At the end, where the gate sections off what will one day be Section 3, which breaks to the left and rises north along the West Side Highway, is a balloon sculpture park. The elevator had an annoying art cyborg talk to us. The water fountains did too. There were bouncy air filled mushrooms so we could jump and somersault inside them. Nearby were food trucks and a bar and good-looking people revelled.
Cat put her number on an airplane ticket and put it in the shoe of a wigger, her type. Chris despised women and we walked back through the native plants and concrete blended beauty, through the canyon of high rise multimillion dollar condos back to our bikes tied outside the Chelsea Market. We rode through the dark hot night back to Bushwick. I bought a beefsteak tomato and a peach on the way. I was very thirsty and rode bareback. It was a great day.