It’s another instance where life intrudes on a writer’s happy little cocoon. I was going to post today about fear: how it can drive or bind, how it is not only incorporated into writing by experienced in the act of writing itself. I was going to post that. But, yesterday during rush hour a steam pipe blew up about 2 blocks from where I work and I thought, that’s for another day.
The pipe which blew sent steam and debris into the air. One person was killed, many others injured. Dust has settled for blocks and they are now concerned about asbestos. I work in a building near the East River, we have recycled air and I’m really not concerned about the air in here. What is remarkable is how much work is going into fixing/finding the problem. ConEdison crews are literally tearing up every corner for three or four blocks in every direction. It’s as if they are trying to remove the top layer of the city so that they can peer underneath it. The NYPD has nearly every street in the area closed off. My walk from the subway usually goes from 6th Avenue and 42nd Street to 43rd and 2nd Avenue. It’s almost a straight line. Today, I had to take a bit of detour. It was interesting having to walk around inside Grand Central until discovering that everyone (and I mean several hundred people, and that’s only those who were there right at that moment; thousands come through Grand Central every morning) were all going to have to leave through the MetLife building. It was interesting to see what’s in the MetLife building. It’s not all insurancey in there. There’s Godiva Chocolate shops and a deli. It’s a little oasis.
Most everyone on the street was taking the strange commute and massive excavation efforts in stride. It’s hard to complain when you’re safe and unhurt and so many people are working so hard to keep you that way.