“They have cordoned off the entire next block! It’s police everywhere. Who do you think is in there?”
“Must be some President,” Tony says. “Some President of some country.”
He has lived in the building since the 70s and isn’t as interested or enthused by the annual general assembly happening two streets away, at the UN headquarters.
“Yeah, but which country do you think??”
“It’ll be some country. Some President. All of them are here now. Trump was here yesterday.” Tony looks away and back at me blinking, half-sighing. I understand my enthusiasm is annoying but my dopamine-driven energy remains unaffected.
Things are new only when you’re new and then it’s all old news.
“Yeah. I guess there is no way to guess exactly who. Aren’t you curious?”
“No. You can go to see the UN building if you want. It is closeby. You can go there everyday.”
“I am going there today.”
I say goodbye and walk into the building, leaving Tony on the steps. This was yesterday. Today our own block was cordoned off too, and I’m no longer interested in which President is here either. They’re all here.
It feels absurd to write that I live two streets away from the UN headquarters. But no matter where you live in Manhattan, you’ll be a few blocks from one landmark or another I suppose.
The first apartment I applied to in the city was on the same block as the Seinfeld apartment. Two buildings away from mine is a condo that John Steinbeck lived in. It’s all surreal. So far.
Mine is a pretty, quiet block. Every time I cross 2nd avenue on my way back from the subway, I wonder how I get to live here. (It’s only been three weeks since I moved into my apartment). Then I remember, not that I ever forget, that I have no elevator, washer/dryer or dishwasher in my life now, and that’s how I can afford to stay in this neighborhood.
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