flashing the sun

There was not a single cloud in the sky over Manhattan, or over the river, or over New Jersey and the hills and somehow the entire rest of the continent. At least it seemed this way. The view turned slowly, just the way it always does, for years now, though it is less and less a view and more and more of a round trip between windows of offices and hotel rooms, condos.
There is still a relative wide sliver of a vista left facing New Jersey, which is in the west from there. It is the not so developed place where the sun sets. The large, orange, glowing sun. The large star behind layers and layers of glass. First there were the windows, of course, the serious strong windows, as they have to be on the 48th floor. Then there were these slightly curved sheets of glass, right by the tables, a barrier of sorts, preventing the guests even if beyond drunk, or angry about the $6.50 charge for non hotel guests, preventing them from just falling into the wrong direction, breaking something after the fall. Perhaps the neck?
As the nearly empty view turned its vacant seats towards the sinking orange sun, a whole group of serious photographers came forward to show the magnificent event to their very smart looking cameras. There was the Danish couple, both men agreeing on the little previews flashing between the graphic interface of their large lensed range finder camera, a quiet woman with a large black SLR, snuck between the chairs as if the sun were an incredibly rare, shy bird. The batteries in her camera must have been super fresh, as she flashed the sun with such powerful bursts of light, over and over and over again... I wonder how much of the actual sunset will make it onto her film.
She was the most professional looking one of the many who were just there, flashing the glass barrier.
In the bathroom, the concierge was very hesitant to offer a paper towel to the chef, who came here in his large white hat. It was good to see that the food professional used his towel and not his hands to open the bathroom door.
Outside by the elevators, a group of tourists from Switzerland contemplated about the great advantages of having numbered streets in a city like New York. The subway system did not seem to be as clear to them however. One lady admitted having been lost... several times. She now made it a habit to study the map very well before leaving the house. She did not want to appear as a tourist, of course.
I knew she was one before I even saw her. (Gell?)
About 44 floors below, the carpets and the music could have been ripped out and imported from a las vegas casino. Twirling leaves and rectangles in complimentary colors intertwined to a maddening composition, amplified by the castrated muzac pumped through the omnipresent hidden speakers.
It was a bit of a psychedelic experience, only healed by a slow escape through the hidden and prohibited fire emergency exit. There it was, an oasis with unpretentious lighting and no disturbing music. So beautifully calm.
So good to just stay there. Calm. More than calm. Happy. A short break in a successful escape from organized madness...
Then the door on the ground floor... "I Heart New York" T-Shirts for just $7.99, thousands of tourists, again, all drunk on the lights and sounds and ultimately themselves.
Such different spaces, right next to each other... so good, so incredibly good...
And the sun? It is now busy setting over the Hollywood sign... will it come back for more?... I bet.
Will there be photographers flashing at it? Most certainly yes.