5:30 PM, Thursday.  New York City.  I sit at a window bar at Dean and Deluca’s in the NY Times building eating a Greek yogurt and a bag of chips trying to figure out this Inspirational music business and watching the people pour down the street past my perch as they madly scramble towards Port Authority bus terminal trying to get home at end of workday.

People watching.  I got it from my dad who used to take us to the St. Louis Cardinal ball games when I was a kid and then sit backwards in his chair and watch the crowd instead of the game.  Never much of a baseball fan, he found it more entertainment watching the people.  He used to say it was worth every dollar of the ticket.

Now I find that I got the bug as well.  I watch over the course of a half hour at least ten thousand people rush by my window tryin’ to make it to their train, their bus, their subway.  Not one of them sees me climb into their private lives for those few seconds as they pass by.  They’re all far too intent on one thing – goin’ home.

Strangely enough, very few are on their cell phones – ignoring the phenomena of our times.  It used to be that when you saw somebody walking down the street talking to themselves, you knew immediately that he/she was a wacko.  Your guard went up.  You stepped gingerly around them or got quickly out of their way.  No longer.  Now everyone’s a wacko talking a mile a minute into cyberspace.

But now, at 5:30 on a Thursday, I see very few talking wackos – rather, most are grim-lipped resolutes, each focusing on one thing – going home.

This mass of humanity reflects the melting pot that is New York City.  They are people of every color, every nationality, every shape and size, every age – each one with a different face, a different body, a different set of thoughts raging through their minds.  The energy is palpable outside my window.  No two are alike.  Not one is the twin, or even from the same mold, as another.  I’m amazed at God’s design skills in individualizing the human face.

Not one smiles.  All are far too intent on simply getting to that train, getting to that seat – getting home.  Though thousands pour by, not one runs into each other or even bumps.  Even ants in all their organization run into each other, climb over one another in their work.  But people focus on not touching, skillfully negotiating the pavement.  There are so many of them that they disregard the sidewalk and take to the street.  The frustrated drivers of vehicles sit, for once, helpless as the masses completely take over their thoroughfare.  The pedestrians win this round.

I cannot take my eyes off of these people.  Each one has his/her complex life story, his/her fascinating or not so fascinating drama going on.  Each one a history, a plot, an Oscar winning movie if written correctly.

And oh, their clothing!  It’s July so we can see more personality reflected than by the usual black coats of winter.  No clothing designer could pick out a thematic style here except to say “highly eclectic”.  This mass comes from every walk of life, from every economic stratum.  Some dress as office workers; they are the least of interest.  Some are the constructionists with their dirty jeans and sweaty t-shirts.  But most are folks that I wonder if ever have been in front of a mirror.  I need to ask them each: “Is this actually the way you’ve chosen to look today?”

The heavy women wear their clothes far too tight as if to show off their fat.  The number of overweight people seems absurd and a sad reflection of the downfall of America.  The number of women showing off their cleavage is astounding for a summer’s day.  If they saw me staring, they would be shocked at my piercing eyes and yet they seem to flaunt them babies as if to say, “See what I got?” or “I dare you to look.” – though at this time in the 5:30 rush, trying to get home, not one of them seems to carry ‘bosom awareness’.

Some stride, some shuffle, some saunter, some strut – none run.  Each intent on a train/bus station another block away.  Each walk speaks of a personality, the history of a triumphant day at work, a beaten down giving up, a hope of future home enticements, a weariness.  Each walk reflects a grim and concentrated desire to simply ‘get there’.

It makes me wonder about my own body posture just sitting there.  It makes me wonder just who is watching me in my private thoughts.  It makes me sit up a little straighter.

And then I eat the last chip; take the last spoonful of cherry/pomegranate yogurt.  It’s time I get on home myself, but the show’s just too fascinating.  If I leave now, just think of all I’ll miss.  So I sit and watch another couple of thousand rush by and spy on their lives and thoughts and secrets for another 10 minutes.

Two days later I find myself doing it again with the Missus as we sit eating more chips on a Manhattan Hudson River pier.  I can’t quite stare at the cleavage like before, but the experience is just as entertaining, just as fascinating.  Watching the people go by…

Where am I going with all this?  I have no earthly idea.  Probably nowhere.  Just a slice of life.

But it happened.  I was there.  Just thought you might like to know.