1. The park had grown lush after all the rain.
2. I turned to stone waiting for waters to recede.
3. Meanwhile, I went to Hudson Yards. Even though it was right in front of me, it felt inaccessible, a perfect monument for the internet era. We were all here, but we all wanted to be somewhere -- or someone -- else.
4. In the adjacent shopping mall, the glum women were covered in candy wrappers, flowers, and frosting. I remembered growing up in the suburbs, where shopping malls felt like a kaleidoscope offering views into a more interesting future, one that could be obtained with a little money. We went as tweens to immerse ourselves in the chaotic grid that replicated the urban one where we hoped to one day live, after we had escaped the boring towns in which we were trapped. Hudson Yards, however, offers something very similar and very different. Even more than the shopping mall at the Oculus or at Columbus Circle, Hudson Yards delivers a 'post-mall' experience in which, by virtue of being in a city, we are offered views of late-capitalism despair. To spend even a few seconds in Hudson Yards is to feel a sense of suffocation that triggers an instinctual desire to escape. It's like being in an airport except worse because it's the destination. There are two questions you constantly ask yourself at Hudson Yards: Why am I here? and How do I get out?
5. 'I thought this $25 million view would make me happier.'
6. Outside, the strong winds seemed to foreshadow or possibly deliver an escape.
7. Still in a state of shock, I took a 'selfie' on the High Line.
8. Like most New Yorkers, I had complained about the High Line -- tOo CrOwDEd -- but I felt better here. I was no longer in the Mall of Hell. The trees and flowers had grown so much over the years.
9. Everything glowed in the western sun. It was beautiful. I didn't care if this escape was illusory.
10. It felt good to believe that the trees might win.
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