Anyway, I sat in the park again and listened to more bands commemorating the Tompkins Square Park riot in August of '88. There were political speeches and verbal accounts of the night.
On the bench, I cradled my husk cherries in my skirt.
I watched this guy get arrested by a plain clothes cop, and then get perp walked by a uniformed cop.
Afterwards, I strolled past the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop and watched this charming male employee dressed like a milk maid (plus, tights) entertain and manage the long line that stretched down 8th Street. These people were thinking, not of riots--not of violence and their own deaths--but only of soft homemade goodness. Perhaps, the Bea Arthur? The Salt Pimp?