A Christmas carroll singalong concert in the park. Mean black swans the size of 8-year olds. Casinos and strip clubs around every corner, almost as frequent as churches. There are steaming and wheezing and erupting geysers. Volcanoes. Boiling and belching mud pits. It all has an intrinsic juju that evokes the future that theologians have promised the wicked among us.
The lineup started outside. Way outside. One line came from the north, snaking around the fountain and up Fifth Avenue. The other wound south. But they converged at the top of the steps and reformed inside the Museum of Metropolitan Art, winding through the galleries and balconies of the second floor. This photo was taken near the “2 Hours From This Point” sign.