Ever noticed how Union Square seems to be de facto divided into distinct regions? The south of the park feels different than the north, while the east has a completely different vibe than the west. I've always felt that the east side of the park is a bit untamed. It seems to be more regularly frequented by malefactors than the west. Same for the north end of the park, where in the afternoon kids from nearby Washington Irving High School gather, and where the occasional melee erupts. The west side of the park, however, with its fountain, artist stalls, greenmarket, dog run, and playground seems, I don't know, cleaner, more controlled. The south end of the park, with the steps and the pavilion, is, of course, the place to be, to see and be seen, and on an day such as today, there are scores of people milling about. All these elements taken together suggest that the most desired place to find an open seat is on a bench in the south-west corner. This evening, when I went to grab a seat and do some reading, I found myself relegated to the north-west sector, a kind of liminal space, straddling the self-awareness and preening of the south-west and the thuggery of the north-east.

It was all an evening in Union Square should be. There was a Cuban man, or probably Puerto Rican, who serenaded the passersby in Spanish with background music from a handheld boombox. There was a gentleman in a 'No Nukes' t-shirt sitting across from me who leaned over to the woman on his right, an obvious stranger, and asked, 'What's toffee?' And there was the young woman who sat down next to me with a sigh. Attractive from the look of her legs - long, tan and smooth, with a tattoo on her foot - I don't look up from my book to look at her face. Aloofness is the only game I got.

Commotion, inevitably, came, came twofold, when a Union Square Partnership employee reaches over the singing Latino to empty a trashcan, and in the process spills discarded food containers all over the man and his stereo. Swearing, in Spanish and French, ensued, while directly in front of me, two men are arguing, one accusing the other of drinking beer in the park, in front of the kids, without an I.D. 'I didn't know, I thought it was an energy drink,' claims the one. 'This is a crime, I'm talking jail-time,' replies the other. Unsurprisingly to everybody, this other soon revealed himself to be drunk (though smart enough to be boozing out of a McDonald's cup), as evidenced when he began to ape the melody of the Puerto Rican, or Cuban, and do an imitation rumba. There were wry smiles on the faces of all, knowing smirks, as if all had come to the square to see just this, and expected nothing less.

I also saw a man walking his dog with his left hand, and his daughter, perhaps 4, whom he had trained to hold onto a leash, with his right.