This is my last evening here in New York City, my last in the United States and the last of my trip. I walk out onto Madison Avenue into my favourite time of day; the part when the sun is low, throwing out long shadows and hitting a million windows, bouncing the light around to create crazy reflections on the buildings like a giant kaleidoscope slowly turning. With the daylight almost done there follows an interlude of calm contemplation, but this is soon replaced with a rising sense of excitement - an expectation of what the night’s coming may yet bring. Tonight this is tempered with thoughts of leaving, for I’m almost at the end of my journey and this brings the inevitable feelings of ennui.

Crossing the street I continue westward, determined to shake off this creeping negativity. I walk as far as 7th Avenue and jump into a cab, heading downtown. Through the open window a warm breeze blows into my face as we race through seven green lights, straight off. The weather is close and humid with a storm building somewhere not too distant. The sidewalks are crowded, people’s voices rise and fall, carried on the still air into my hearing, the words clear for a second or two, then gone, like scanning through the wavebands on a radio. After twenty-five blocks the cab pulls over at Washington Square North.

The day having been warm, as well as Sunday, ensures that the square is crammed with people enjoying the sun’s last rays that saturate the scene with a blazing orange light. Street entertainers are out in force, each attracting a willing and appreciative audience. A group of old timers knock out New Orleans style jazz; two kids with acoustic guitars strum franticly through their set and are joined for a while by a strange wild boy, who, stripped to the waist, performs a dance of his own invention, moving on with a wave once he’s done, vanishing into the crowd; a black guy in top hat and tails runs through his repertoire of Sammy Davis Jnr. numbers; an old man on a bicycle rides imperiously through the throng, a battered cassette player duct taped to the carrier over the back wheel, belting out the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack with maximum distortion; twin brothers from the Bronx treat us to an acrobatic display, pulling in members of the audience to act as stooges to their well rehearsed patter, artfully putting us down while we willingly hand over our dollar bills.

Reluctant to go, I need to make my way to Hudson Street where I’ve reserved a table for dinner. I’m booked in to a Portuguese restaurant that has been getting good reviews. The place is jammed with large parties, all seeming to celebrate a birthday, anniversary, or just each other’s company and this drives me into the book I always bring along when I eat out alone. I turn the pages, I see the words, but I take in nothing and give up. Uneasy in my surroundings and overcome with an urgent desire to leave, I finish up quickly and get the check.

Darkness has fallen as I make my way across to 8th Avenue where I can pick up a cab to take me uptown. On the way I pass a small bar, the door is open and before I can think twice I’m inside ordering a drink; another follows, then another until I’m settling the check for six or seven. By the time the coolness of the street hits me the last lingering traces of depression have lifted to be replaced by an alcoholic high and for the present at least, all is right with the world.

On the corner of Bleecker and 8th I stumble across a paved area with public seating. I take my place among those already here, happy for the city to pass me by. Close by, a rose from Spanish Harlem uses her cell phone to arrange a rendezvous with her boyfriend; a swaying drunk serenades his bottle toting compadres; a bespectacled lady with a perm walks her dog, plastic bag at the ready to scoop any poops; an old man watches, his chin resting on gnarled hands, cupped over the handle of his cane; a couple whisper low, their heads almost touching, oblivious in their lovelorn solitude.

As the cab sweeps me up 8th Avenue for one last nightcap at The Paramount, I lie back as far as the cramped back seat will allow and let the sights and sounds of the New York night flood over me. Electricity is everywhere, shocking everything into life, its fluorescent energy illuminating the clouds above with a ghostly light. It's as though I can reach up and touch the stars that sparkle beyond.