Thursday, 02 December 2004 | Campfire

Sometimes, when I'm walking down the east side of 6th Avenue, I panic for a split second when I look up and don't see the crown of the Empire State Building. A split second is the amount of time it takes for me to remember that the Empire State Building is visible on the east side of 5th Avenue, not 6th.

Occasionally I look at the passengers who share my subway car and see them as the people who I would be trapped with, and partially dependent on, if something were to go wrong. It never comes as an alarm, just an observation. Ah, you and you. I would get to know you better, in a manner that I don't even know my friends.

Yesterday you were standing in the street, stiff and motionless, staring down the block toward the clouds of black smoke. None of you knew what was happening, so, after checking to make sure the steeple was in place, I walked down 19th, toward 6th, to watch the fire trucks zip by. The streets were nearly empty, except for a swarm of firefighters. Somehow I ended up on the prohibited side of the caution tape, so I walked around (alone) and took pictures, absorbing enough smoke in my hair and clothes that I would smell like a campfire for the rest of the day.

Gossip on the street said that it was an electrical fire in the subway, on the same subway line that had derailed earlier that morning.

Happy Public Transportation Day!