Now that the month of June is almost upon us, street-digging-up season is in full-swing in New York. After a long, hard, seemingly-endless winter, potholes have proliferated, water-mains have ruptured and gas-lines have sprung leaks.
It seems on every block or so a clump of heavyset men in fluorescent orange vests and hard-hats are surveying the situation. Right in front of my building there's a group of them who have marked the street near the curb in white spray paint and fenced the long, narrow space off with construction barriers. A circular concrete cutter that could bring down Cheops is doing its best to prepare the way for a giant back-hoe that its awaiting its asphalt meal from around the corner.
My building's super looks on in absolute terror. He redid the sidewalks late last year and just finished putting in new flowerbeds around the trees in front of my address. Will all this be un-done?
The splendor and I suppose horror of New York is that it is always under construction. My old man used to say "New York would be a great place to live if they ever finished it."
But like any massive project, whether in urban planning, dentistry or, I suppose, advertising, it will never quite be done. You have to keep digging to make things right.
No point this morning.
With all the construction happening I can hardly hear myself think.