It started as a typical Monday, not too crowded. The weather continued hot and humid. Puffy white clouds in a bright blue sky were backdrop for the towers of the Majestic and the San Remo on Central Park West. A fifty-ish man gave me a dollar early on; another man of about the same age emptied his pockets of 8 dimes and nickel. That was my haul for the day.

During the slow moments, when no one was visible in either direction, I practiced “Down among the Sheltering Palms,” and another new tune, “You’ve Got to be a Football Hero.”

About 20 yards up the path, an old man carefully set up his equipment, pulling it from a shopping cart, first a chair, an umbrella, a music stand. I worried at first that this was another busker, but it eventually came clear that he was a caricature artist. That wasn’t a music stand, it was an easel. He didn’t have a keyboard in his cart, it was a box of paint and brushes.

Moments later, an old lady started pulling her caricature studio out of a granny cart about 5 yards down the path. I was surrounded. Add to these the caricature artist who had been setting up near the bench toward the fountain all season, Nick the hand-writing analyst, and the accordionist who has recently appeared, and my stretch of path no longer provided the quiet wonder of aloha on a summer day; it’s looking more like a carnival midway.