The N train pulled out of the tunnel and onto the elevated ramp. The subway somehow does not spend much time on the pedestrian level. It either travels under the streets of New York, or it moves from station to station on those metal ramps placed right in the middle of often important streets.
So there we were, above the roofs of Queens, heading for Astoria. We were now on water-tower level, the sun turning the ones south of the train into jolly furry hats on thin metal legs. On one of the roofs the tower itself was missing. There was just this shadow of the metal feet left, right next to the emergency exit on the roof of an abandoned factory. I had about 5 seconds to jot it down, and so I did.
Not quite sure what made me draw the strange crown on the right hand side, but when I looked on the drawings just now, they turned sly blurry and drew together to become one.
And there the feet of a water-tower were a stand for a crown, and a crown was suddenly filled with no glory but emergency water.
And maybe neither of that. Maybe they are still drawings that spend most of their time sticking to each other, in a tiny book, on the bookshelf somewhere in an apartment on 95th and Broadway. (Now here, suddenly everywhere, for all to see.)