Chapter 3: Central Park and Shakespeare
After thirty six hours of hard boozing and MacDonald-fueled treks across Manhattan island at four in the morning, I was more than willing to spend my last full day in NYC letting my liver rebuild. Sending the last few swigs of Scotch on the Greyhound back to the 'Nati with Chester, I adjourned to Central Park and found an inviting patch of grass to sleep on.
Suddenly, I was assaulted from every direction by a disorganized mob of theater goers. Pulling the New York Times off my face, I cursed loudly and looked around. A half-dozen fools dressed like extras in a remake of To Kill a Mockingbird filled the clearing and began reciting Shakespeare. Well, that's too good to pass up, even with a wicked hangover.
A young woman working the crowd handed my a pamphlet. I had apparently been abducted by a free, and very mobile, production of Love's Labours Lost. With every scene, the audience was made to sprint to the next location, capturing more and more innocent victims until reaching a critical mass halfway through Act II.
While I chatted with a tall, lithe punk rocker chick (who, sadly, was looking for somebody who had one more X Chromosome then I had to offer...), I realized that life is an adventure by default. I would never have seen a Shakespeare performance in New York City if I hadn't been alone in the city, if I hadn't been looking for a place to take a nap on a warm June afternoon. I didn't have to do anything except stay still for a few hours.
Suddenly, I was assaulted from every direction by a disorganized mob of theater goers. Pulling the New York Times off my face, I cursed loudly and looked around. A half-dozen fools dressed like extras in a remake of To Kill a Mockingbird filled the clearing and began reciting Shakespeare. Well, that's too good to pass up, even with a wicked hangover.
A young woman working the crowd handed my a pamphlet. I had apparently been abducted by a free, and very mobile, production of Love's Labours Lost. With every scene, the audience was made to sprint to the next location, capturing more and more innocent victims until reaching a critical mass halfway through Act II.
While I chatted with a tall, lithe punk rocker chick (who, sadly, was looking for somebody who had one more X Chromosome then I had to offer...), I realized that life is an adventure by default. I would never have seen a Shakespeare performance in New York City if I hadn't been alone in the city, if I hadn't been looking for a place to take a nap on a warm June afternoon. I didn't have to do anything except stay still for a few hours.
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