It is 11:15 on a late Saturday morning at the New York Public Library next to Bryant Park.
The soft patter of rain hitting concrete enters past the gentle swooshing sounds of the revolving doors.
The sighs of foreign folks just entering the dry indoors, join that of the stomping of running children to the left.
From the floor above, a climbing crescendo of animated voices travel down on the opposite side of the lobby. Their voices increase as they bounce around the high ceilings.
The quiet murmurs of tour guides greet and explain the newcomers in various languages.
They leave behind a disappearing buzz as they shuffled on to their tour.
Semi-silence resumes.
The only interruptions are that of the security guard clanging his feet as he shuffles in his seat. Or that of the lobby visit greeters stage whispering to each other.
The rain, of course, has increased its steady, water-like stream outside--
Suddenly there's the soft clacking of heels waltzing towards the lobby.
The person gets nearer as they muffle a hacking cough and finalizes their walk with a final stomp right behind a pillar.
A metal chair scrapes marble and the person shuffles into their seat.
Once again, all is quiet until the sound of fingers lightly rubbing paper, indicating the person has opened a new book as the creak of binding stings the air.
The sound of a person slowly walking around, halting momentarily in place, transfixed, is the most memorable sound as people actually stop and admire something within the cacophony sounds of this city.