Dominic Umile

Nice. (H/T Samuel Rubenfeld)

“The Blizzard of ’77 was an epic of staggering through a white landscape. None of us ever said it, but I think the fantasy was that we were the last people alive on Earth. Why was Central Park mostly empty in the middle of a blizzard? Because it was a blizzard. But was it really empty? Did we go hours without seeing anyone except an occasional cross country skier? All those arrival tracks zigzagging this way and that would suggest otherwise. But such is the glory of Central Park and its many nooks and crannies: that at any given moment, it holds thousands of people who feel like they are alone.”