Articles and thoughts by Peter Holslin

Before the Rain, a Flautist

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Ready to buy some lunch, I stepped out of an elevator into the long, golden hallway of an East 44th high-rise, which once headquartered The New Yorker and now hosts GMP. I pressed through a revolving door and into a more business-like nook of Times Square.

I could guess by the talk of umbrellas on the elevator that rain was nigh. Outside, office executives, firemen and tourists alike went about their city business. I passed down the sidewalk to my regular deli, the one with a maroon overhang. It was your average summer day, only the weather lacked an oppressive humidity. Rather, it was misty and still–silence before a downpour, indeed.

Still, no threat of rain warded off the flautist I passed. He was a stocky fellow with a comb-over, wearing a dress-shirt, a leather belt and pressed, grey dockers. He nestled into an alcove along a wall across the street and jerked his elbows back and forth, up and down, to the rhythm of his free jazz flute riffs.


Written by Peter Holslin

August 20, 2007 at 4:53 pm

Posted in Life, new york city

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