I continue walking through Washington Square Park with a pad in hand and a mechanical pencil in pocket. The overcast sky seems to have set the park's mood, hindering favorable activities. People move slower on the east side than those people nearer the renovation site. Some walk idly. Some find seats and reach into bags. The benches are spotted by people with novels and textbooks, lunches and hot drinks, children and dogs, and a common disregard for passersby.
I take a seat on a bench across from a white-haired couple wearing black coats and conflicting expressions. A sharp light reflects from his watch and stings my eye for a second. His elbows resting behind him on the top of the bench, he smiles wholly as he talks to her and wears a concerned and admiring face. She quietly looks ahead, past me at a tree or something. Her hands are folded and tight, and her eyes seem to flutter between resting and watching.
A squirrel runs into the walk-path from between her parted feet, and it darts under my bench a few feet to my right. Where did it go? Curious and welcome to a distraction, I imagine it jumping on a sill and opening a mirror-like window with a polished steel frame.
On the other side, it's summer and park life is ripe with activity. Once again, visitors are treated with several musicians offering free shows; entertainers of various mediums charm and impress gaggles; and tourists cradle cameras and hiking packs, pointing and wide-eyed. Two stand out and I decide to watch.
They're student-aged and sitting across from the Silver building on a park bench. One sips a vendor-brewed coffee and wears a Dartmouth t-shirt. The second, wearing a NYU t-shirt from the 70s, pulls at an American Spirit and says to the cigarette, "These are really good."
Person 1: Oh my God! Remember when Ian funneled four beers on the quad? That was craaaazy. I seriously think he can drink anyone under the table - like that! (Snaps)
Person 2: (Plain-faced, with slightly raised eyebrows) It's true. Look at them over there (sternly nods to the forward-left in one motion)... I think they're smoking marijuana.
Person 1: (Looks quickly) That's a cigarette. Anyway, (continuing with a full smile) Natalie told me that Seth is playing the Plymouth guys next week. When we get back to St. Louis Park we should head to the field for 2:00. I'm bringing margaritas and I think I'll bring Carla. She should really meet Aaron. Don't you think they'll get along?
Person 2: Yeah, definitely. Hey, let's watch those guys juggle fire batons. There's a big crowd watching. It must be good.
Person 1: Sure.
They walk to the 20-person crowd in front of the Garibaldi statue. Person 1 finishes her coffee and puts it in the garbage can. Person 2 lights his cigarette. They stand still and watch the performance.
After a few minutes, conversation starts again.
Person 1: Oh man, I just remembered the Farmer's Market is next week! We can't miss it because Pammy is working the pigs den. Did you hear that her father managed to get that pig up 30 pounds since last month? He's fucking insane, I swear it! (Smiles and giggles loudly and abruptly)
Person 2: (Nods, looking at the air-born fire baton) True story. (Turns toward Person 1) I saw something like a farmer's market a few blocks up, at that other park - Union Sqaure.
Person 1: Pfh. That's not really a park is it? ...It's like a cement clearing.
Person 2: Yeah, but it's treated like a park. Kind of like this one, but there's a lot more grass and trees here - It's cool, right?
Person 1: (Looks down to hands and turns the paper over twice. Then looks up and quietly squints eyes, with a small smile.) It's really busy, and kind of small. But I see the appeal. It'll be fun. (Smiling intensely, cocking head) But not like the time in the skate park with Eathan's friends! (Laughs hysterically, eyes closed.)
Person 2: (Looking slightly taken aback) That wasn't funny.
Person 1: (Pretending to wipe tears) Oh I promise you it is! And you know you'll one day think back and smile at it.
Awkward silence.
Person 2: Look at that woman - she's actually putting shit in that squirrel's mouth. (Flat-faced and incredulously) And how are those squirrels black?
Person 1: I don't know. But we have a family of red squirrels that come to the back door every time we're eating dinner. Remember?
Person 2: (Still looking at the woman, intently) Let's ask if we can feed them.
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