Wednesday, October 19, 2005
A clear, crisp, windy autumn day. I’m one of a couple hundred people walking like a zombie with arms outstretched toward the big rock in the corner of the Sheep Meadow. Just like the others, I’m following orders from the voice in my ear. I don’t know the others, but I figure they’re probably imagining, as I am, how this must look to the people who came to Central Park for an ordinary autumn day.
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