At first, it would startle me. I'd see them at a glance, assume "homeless," and then get up closer and have to do a double-take. She's not asking for change with that Starbucks cup.
And it's not just that these sidewalk sitters are non-homeless people. I'm not talking about a bunch of skateboard kids or punks "chillin'" on the dirty curb. The people I'm talking about are largely middle and upper-middle class "regular" folks. It's the tourists and Juicy Couture shoppers. It's moms from Ohio.
They sit to make phone calls and write text messages.
They relax on the curb to have deep, intimate talks.
They plop down with their soy mocha lattes.
They sprawl out with their shopping bags.
They read maps and drink Snapple.
They place plastic containers of snacks on the curb next to them and indulge in a little street munching.
They spread their legs, enjoy their iced coffee, and send their digital missives.
They collapse en masse, with a group of pals, and shoot the breeze while leaning against a lamp post or a mailbox, or with their sandaled feet in the gutter. As if nobody ever pisses or pukes there. As if nobody's dog ever took a shit in that exact spot, and no toxic liquids flow through that green stream.
And you know what it is. It's the assumption of sterility. All those shiny boxes, those condos and newsstands made of glass, all that Bloombergian glitter makes people think everything in New York is clean, so the sidewalks must be too. Clean enough to eat off?
It's a minor complaint, perhaps a petty one, but something about it just bugs me.
