The entire city was painted white by this fog. I can not see further than two blocks from here. It is as if Manhattan were built inside of a cloud.
A cook and a delivery-man wrestled on the sidewalk in front of their restaurant on 98th street. The cook won twice, smashing the other guy to the chewing gum marked pavement. One time the defeated man fell on his back, the other time the cook ended up on top of the other man, who seemingly kissed the pavement. They were both laughing. It was a very realistic looking game. Two old women commented on the scene in Portugese. They were half a block away. It is possible that they were commenting on something else.
More stores are closing on Broadway. There will be yet another bank a block away from here.
The shoe store on 93rd had my now severely fixed up camper-shoes for a relatively good price. I asked the salesman to bring me a Black size 43. He came back after about 10 minutes. "I do not have a 43. I have a 44 in a different color." He opened the box containing something that looked nothing like what I actually almost considered to buy. As I was leaving the store, another salesman tried to convince me that the shoes I wanted only existed in a different size and in a different color, if at all.
I have to work on an urgent project. I will now just listen to some music and dive into my productivity suit(e).
Wish I had slept better. Three hours are just really not enough. And even the time spent resting was a strange concoction of bizzarre dreams involving hostile international office takeovers and incredible architectonic landscapes.
Later will be here sooner than I would like it to be. And thus I must do something now.