I looked at my phone.  2:11. I looked up.  Leaning against a rusty, paint-chipped railing, two grey haired men, dressed in plain, inconspicuous jackets, introduced the nauseating smell of cigarettes to the passersby.  The surroundings, which were scarcely populated, didn’t possess the bustle and enthusiasm that was typical of New York City.  Instead, the clouds despotically claimed the skies, impeding the warmth of the sunlight and, by extension, the joviality inherent in the High line surroundings.  I made my way upstairs to the High line.

The High line, with its elevated positioning, vacant space, and chilly winds, gave off a heavenly air, standing in stark contrast to the city underneath.  I closed my eyes.  The monotonous beeping of truck backing up, the sound of police sirens approaching and dissipating, and the winds rustling through the dry leaves which populated the floor informed me of my presence above the commercial underworld.  When I opened my eyes, the vast, glistening Hudson River stood before my eyes, commanding a sense of awe as I noticed the natural and placid River contrast with the gargantuan buildings and noisy traffic.  Perhaps, the windy chill in the air convinced potential High line visitors to remain indoors, I contemplated, as I only saw meager couples and friends walking past me, which stood in pale comparison to the High line visit I took last semester with my seminar class.  A woman, clothed in a black coat and blue jeans, walked past me with another person who I assumed was her husband.  Offering a smell of perfume to those who passed by, she delighted the air touching her, I thought, as its faint smell entered my nose.  She certainly didn’t smoke, I concluded, remembering the two gentlemen who polluted the air with cigarettes before I entered the High line.  I, then, peeked inside one of the buildings which were standing adjacent to the High line.  A barely illuminated room revealed a desk with cluttered paperwork on top.  Although the curtain covering the window made the view more translucent, I confirmed that it was a bedroom.  Turning around, I saw several billboards populate the sides of tall buildings as if it was meant to be broadcasted to the world.  One of the billboards read: “So you can’t parallel park. I’ll be our little secret.”  Laughing to myself, I took a Snapchat of the billboard and sent it to my friend in City college.  Moments later, he replied with a witty remark, obviously angry that I insinuated that he can’t drive well.  I, then, set on my excursion.

At first, the sides of the High line offered a great, unencumbered view of the city with its never ending construction, which appeared to obstruct the beauty of the Hudson river nearby. Cars were hindered by the stop light and the buildings were so gargantuan that only King Kong could manage to climb.  Later on, however, some of these buildings approached the High line, blocking off visual connection with the world to the side in order to draw attention to the artwork presented to the viewers.  The buildings themselves were reminiscent of urban plainness, with its tall, rectangular shape made of innumerable bricks cemented together to hold its inhabitants in close proximity to one another.  Other buildings were hallmarks of architecture.  Its strange shape attributed to its unique function: to command the attention of the visitors of the High line.  The sides of these buildings were made with glass, which both offered the visitors a peek inside the buildings and also purveyed a wonderful reflection of the blue, cloudy sky.  The reflection was so lucid that the movement of the clouds, caused by the moving air currents, was visible.  Some buildings had a distinctive shape.  Instead of the usual rectangular shape, the sides of the building curved inward or outward to make the building seem less angular and adding to the otherwise bland neighborhood.

An odd looking art presented itself, looking surprisingly similar to the Google logo and yet claiming its own identity, standing in front of a plain but modern looking building.  The individual characters were strange with some round and fluid and others more angular.  Different colors also distinguished the individual characters of the artwork.  Shortly afterward, I ran into Asad, one of my classmates, and we took pictures of the artwork after greeting one another.  Walking down the path, I saw the top half of a girl, with long, straight hair, puckering to kiss someone special with eyes closed and head tilted in a strange way.  This sculpture, which rested on a white block, was clean, which seemed surprising since it was situated outside in one of the busiest places in the world.  Her mouth contained a hole, perhaps so that water could be excreted from it to act as a water fountain.  Some of the buildings had steel colored sidings, offering a creative tinge to an otherwise bland looking setting.  The sound of couples laughing attracted me toward a strange painting in which a naked woman appeared to be gracefully flying across a blue sky.  This woman, whose wavy hair gracefully flowed from her head, was followed by lines of air behind her, making her look like a free spirit unencumbered the restraints of gravity.  To my right, I noticed a railroad tracks running parallel to the path, populated with dry, withering shrubs and leaves.  Though the artwork may have made the ethereal High line seem heavenly, the colorless leaves minimized that effect to a certain degree.  Nonetheless, I was ecstatic.  The cold, sudden wind rejuvenated my spirit, making me feel more cognizant and enthusiastic.  Suddenly, a sharp, acerbic drilling sound pierced that spirit.  As I looked up, a construction worker was working on a building floor.  It seemed as though the construction workers themselves had gone deaf from the effects of the drill because none of them seemed to wince at the sound.  Rather, they remained concentrated on their individual tasks, which others also showed displeasure at the sound.  Nauseated by the sound, I walked past the working zone, only to encounter a dead end imposed by the construction crew.  Asad, then, suggested that we turn to proceed back toward the starting point.