The Beating Heart of Manhattan on Tenth Avenue

After the lunch with Zeke, it was time to get back up into the city. Before I went down into the subway I took one last perplexed look at the new skyline, knowing that, from the appearance of construction cranes amidst the already built towers, the layout of the building  would probably be very different the next time I saw it, whenever that was.

Heading back to Manhattan, I made sure to catch the Express, which is a nicer, bigger train than the local. Many people, even locals, don't realize how different the subway lines are, until it becomes obvious to them. It turns out the various lines were built in epochs of construction that now interweave in non-obvious fashion, but reflect a broad archaeology of time within the city's history.

The plan was for me to meet up with the rest of the gang. Originally they had thought to come into Brooklyn, but that morning in Jersey City they had decided to go back only into the City itself, which was much more accessible for a leisurely outing, considering they had already checked out of the hotel, and had put our luggage into a locked storage room at reception.

Red had thus texted to meet them at the bookstore in Chelsea Market, which is on the west side, near the river, in the Chelsea Neighborhood of course. I had only vaguely heard of Chelsea Market. I didn't know what it was. After getting off the subway, it took me a few blocks of navigating the neighborhood, full of rainbow flags for the ongoing and never-ending party that they symbolize, to find the location and finally cross the last busy avenue, where as I did I paused to take a picture of a cool steakhouse sign outside a door, and thought of the movie starring Margaret O'Brien about the miracle of the kneeling cow. On the other side of the traffic was the entrance of a large restored brick factory building, and I went inside.

Inside actually turned out to be nice. It was an indoor mall---a long hall crammed with people like a busy airport concourse, going amidst upscale and gourmet type shops of foodstuffs and other items. I had to ask for the location of the bookstore, and was told it was way down the hallway, which was quite a walk as it happens. Whatever Chelsea Market was, it had certainly come into its own in the current epoch of 2019. It was the place to be, for both locals and out-of-towners. It reminded me of what old Penn Station probably felt like, in the heyday of rail, except a modern yuppie-trendy version reflecting our Ultraprosperous Era, and all of our disposal incomes in this Ultraprosperous City.