She looks into oncoming traffic, black bag slouched on her shoulder. Apple headphones held by the headband. She’s in a burnt orange coat at the front of the shop. Gesturing with her hands, picking grapes. Crooked-teeth smile. Wide black pants with white stitching. Citi e-bike swerving down Elizabeth against traffic. She’s coming up from the shop basement steps, porcelain plates and mugs stacked, carefully balanced. We were quite close as I passed. Bumps along the shaved back of her neck. The line is long. The barista asks to catch up later. A child in a red knit cap walks in front of me on the sidewalk. Blue tarp draped over a restaurant awning. Navy sweatshirt draped over her shoulders. Long lines from the pizza spot. Snowflake decals scattered on the pharmacy window. Dried fish scales reflecting greyness. Waiting at the crosswalk, she pulls the drawstring of her hoodie tight around her nose and eyes. Upper body rotating side to side. A woman standing next to her, toes pointed in. Bright white lines, and gray clouds. Beige surface of the basketball court. Skyline fogged, buildings flat. River sways, patch of white bubbles change shape. Cop with sunken eyes, bright neon jacket. She’s standing with a group straddling Citi bikes. I’m standing across the street. Construction fencing strewn about. Caution tape sleeping. She’s licking the ice cream cone outside the book shop. Motor bikes chained to the handrail. FDR overpass, cars rushing, maze of construction barriers. Dark and then light, grey overcast, no shadows. I’m stopping at each parked car. Cobblestone. Full body stretching. Shape of a triangle from a distance. Fire truck siren. She takes out her phone to record. Head of a statue outside the bank. A woman walking in front, laughing, saying she doesn’t want to graduate. B O O K S spelled vertically in red vinyl serif. Unfold the baby carriage in one-fell swoop.
Artist’s Note: All bodies observed in this log are referred to as she.