Sandy Honig
Astor Place Cube
Tuesday afternoon, the time is 3:20. I approach the cube, sun hitting my eyes in an uncomfortably bright way, and see three people in the vicinity. Two are seated, shielding their eyes from the light, looking up at the third person that is wildly talking. He looks down at them, wearing a black coat and pants, and occasionally fans his body; he is overheating on this hot day. One of the men on the ground is wearing a bright white shirt that seems to reflect the heat of the day. He sits comfortably, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees. The other man sits upright, his sunglasses eclipsing his face so that I cannot quite get a glimpse. I navigate the cube, circumventing its geometric shape to find a fourth person sitting in its shadow on the other side. The girl is seated below a large point in the cube, I fear that if she stands up too quickly she might hurt herself on the cube’s sharp edges. A shadow from the cube falls across her face in a stripe. I walk away, and she blends back into the shadow.