Our son William and his girlfriend Kim Bedgio, live in Queens and meet us at the hotel shortly after we’ve checked in. William is an artist and working with a partner, is creating unique artistic environments in homes and commercial establishments. Kim works for a psychiatrist. She has a Boston University degree in art and literature, so I never run out of things to talk about with her.

Will is cooking ribs and we’re to accompany them back to their apartment. I offer a cab, but they want us to share their subway experience. Although Tara and I regularly use the Tube in London, we have never been fond of the NYC subway system. But we follow the kids into the bowels of the city and go down a stairway, around and down an escalator to wait for a train in the stale air of the catacomb.

Upon the subway, two black teenagers take over the next car and we watch through the window as they breakdance and jump around. Passengers vacate their seats to give them room. When the show is over, they pass the hat for tips. A few people give up coins out of appreciation or intimidation. I’m not sure which.

It is about a mile walk from the subway, through the ethnically diverse streets of Queens, to the kid’s third-floor apartment. It is tiny, but comfortable, homey and artistically furnished, with a dog and two cats for company.

MONDAY -- AUGUST 22: Tara, William and I walk from midtown to Greenwich Village, absorbing the vibrations and color of the city, stopping in music and book stores along the way. At Coliseum Books I find Christine Wicker’s Lily Dale book.

In Washington Square, musicians play good jazz, so we sit on the park benches and listen. A policeman on horseback stands off to the side, either appreciating the music or simply performing his duty. Many parents are pushing babies in strollers. Some of the listeners are obviously nearby office workers eating their sack or deli lunches ... others appear to be homeless, grateful for the entertainment. An overdressed woman carries her tiny dog to the dog park to commune with other small dogs. Thirty feet away is a dog park for larger dogs.

Later, at Union Square Park, we wait for Kim who works nearby. A group is staging an anti-Bush protest. They carry large banners and their sound system blasts hysterical words so loud you can barely make them out. I catch something about “the belly of the beast.” I think they are preaching to the choir in the ultra-liberal Village. But the more I listen, the more I realize they are also protesting the whole idea of civilization itself.

We move deeper into the park to get away from the noise. Every race is represented here. Men lay in the grass wearing only shorts. People are passed out on the park benches, while right beside them someone dressed in corporate attire is reading the Financial News.

We stop to watch dogs interact at another dog park. One of the owners is airing his dog while picking on a guitar so softly I cannot hear it ten feet away. But a huge bearded man, looking like Moses himself, ambles up to us, raises his arms in the air as if about to part the Red Sea, and screams at the guitar player, “SO YOU BRING YOUR ARTIFICIAL MEANS OF INFLUENCING THE VIBRATIONS OF INFINITY.” His voice booms through the park, louder than the protest. The guitar player ignores him, so the big guy wanders off mumbling something about what Jesus does and does not like.

Kim arrives. I suggest we take a cab to Connolly’s Irish Restaurant on East 47th. The kids say, “No, it’s rush hour, quicker to take the subway.” So we descend into Union Square station and take the train to Grand Central. Exiting the subway, we have to step around the body of a man lying on the cement just outside the train doors. Police are investigating. We don’t know if the prone young man is dead or alive.

We have drinks before dinner. The conversation quickly turns to Will and Kim’s concerns about how crazy the city is going to become during the convention. “Like it isn’t crazy already?” I say. But there are nearly three-million registered Democrats in the city and only a half-million Republicans. People are coming from all over the country to protest. The NYC Police have added 10,000 additional officers to deal with what they fear may come.

You just know Tara is going to be petting the park policeman’s horse about 10 seconds after the picture was taken.

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