Washington Square, after 4:00 P.M., 7/8/09

City squirrels, like city people are rarely fazed by the unusual; he races amidst the parkgoers' feet, some oaken treasure in his sight, and only the dogs at the ends of leashes aren't cool.

A pigeon curls his toes over the edge of a concrete curb before lift off, and his wings sound more like excited claps, than flaps, while on benches sit the old, the jobless, the students and the lost, a repeating patchwork pattern, and the sidewalks, once cracked with roots and many seasons' abuse are smooth now-- history evicted.