Posthuman Blues

The speakerphone in my apartment lobby:





"Ruth," one of the better-known Plaza sculptures. She's biblical, so I suppose there's a moral of some sort lurking behind that ashen, unassuming face.





I see this guy about every week. He sets up shop outside the Cheesecake Factory and plays keyboard and electric guitar. I'd kill for one millionth of his musical ability.





After indeterminable months of construction, I've finally got an electronic crosswalk. No more dodging across the street only to circumnavigate traffic cones and gaping holes in the ground.