time is delivered so differently...

during the shut down. No longer do I have to be somewhere at a deliberate time, now as I look at my watch in the afternoon, it seems the more time anything takes, the better. The slower I have to move, the longer I stay out which means I come home later. Time flattens out. I have no rush to be anywhere because nothing is happening. So the more a trip or walk expands, the better.
  This afternoon, I arrived at the 125th street 1 train station just as a local was pulling out. The next one: 14 minutes. Oh well, I thought, why not? Get some reading done, there is no rush. As it was I was in the middle of a really skillful short story by Somerset Maugham.  Its called "The Outstation".
After a really strong passage---I stopped--looked east from the elevated tracks. And for a moment I thought: yes, I am glad the city is dead. I love the quietness--nothing frenetic--no people running up and down the streets as would be if this was a normal day. Yes, for that moment the silence, the emptiness seemed totally appropriate.
    Yesterday afternoon: took the 1 to 59th street, then the A. Debated if I should get off at the first stop in Brooklyn---High Street_--and walk around Brooklyn Heights. It would be interesting to see the Heights during lockdown. But I decided not to. I would stick with the "tried and true" that is getting off at Lafayette, near the now shuttered Gotham Market, and proceeding from there.  Got off, had a nice cup of coffee, sitting at one of the open squares, and headed east. Were there people on the street---some, some wearing masks, some not. Managed to walk as far as Franklin Street. There, I thought that I might take a bus that runs from Crown Heights into Flatbush, but decided that it was better simply to walk south. I walked from Fulton to Eastern Parkway, a pretty easy walk. On the way, I passed different streets, some had apartment houses on them, some had beautiful brownstones. Again, i asked myself, what was this neighborhood like while I was growing up? Were the apartment houses mostly populated by Jewish people? And the Brownstones? Who owned them? Were some rooming houses..? Growing up my parents had many friends, and I had many kid friends, but all, but a few who lived in the suburbs,  lived in apartments, big and small. At the Parkway, by the Franklin Avenue station, I found a bench, sat and watched people going by. Lots of couples, some families with children--single people, joggers--no one whom I knew, so there was no conversation, but I thought-well my observations have become conversation---that is all there is now.
  So it ended and I returned home.