Sometimes, on the teeming streets around Central Park, where tourists, office workers, strollers and residents all seem to form in one giant river of humanity, a man or a woman seems to be floating by, riding above the crowds, gazing up at the sky, you see some flowers floating along with him, an incongruous man in a top hat and black coat, there is something joyous and surprising about him, he is smiling up at the sky, and you hear the clip-clop of the hooves and watch all of the heads turn, and what a delightful thing to see a horse’s head bob up, see the flowers fly past, see the smile on the driver’s face, the look of a man many happy to be where he is., just look up to the smallest hint of magic and history, of theater and connection.