ROY EDROSO, ALICUBI NEWS

January 31 (Alicubi) On Lexington Avenue near 42nd Street, something's amiss. It takes a minute to figure out what. There's about the same volume of rush-hour foot traffic, the same newspaper vendor presence, and the same shop window displays: Strawberry's features American flags and hairless, faceless mannequins, one sporting a glittery T-shirt which reads BLING BLING.

What's missing is cars. Normally at rush hour the vehicular traffic is bumper-to-bumper. Today, at 9:10 a.m., a single vehicle rolls down Lexington Avenue. Nearly a minute later, another rolls down. Just like the main drag in Oatmeal, Nebraska, one expects.

The traffic flow has been choked because Lexington Avenue, as well as four of the side streets that feed it, has been sealed to traffic from 52nd Street down to 47th. The purpose is to protect attendees of the World Economic Forum--this year headquartered at the Waldorf Astoria, Palace, and Intercontinental Hotel--from the sight of anti-globalization protestors, which might discourage them from returning to New York someday and pouring more of their considerable cash resources into our damaged economy. (You can read details of the full "frozen zone" scheme at a special NYPD web page.)

Most drivers have gotten the message and are avoiding the district altogether. Almost no cars are parked at the curb. New Yorkers bitch about cars and, spurred by that tiny remaining sliver of Ratso Rizzo still living in some of our souls, kick their bumpers and give drivers the finger when they encroach too much on our personal pedestrian space; but it must be said that without cars, Midtown hustle-and-bustle ain't much. The street looks like an evacuation site, and the clots of people trotting along the sidewalks like refugees looking for a safe haven.

Cops are everywhere. A few near Grand Central wear their riot helmets, but most wear regular uniforms and stand in pairs, backs to buildings, eyes checking the street at intervals. At a nearby bagel place, in a dining area in the back obviously designed with executives in mind (lattice-and-lacquer seats, faux marble tabletops), a young police cadet is joined by a regular cop, who squeezes three packets of ketchup onto a bacon-and-egg sandwich, takes a huge bite, and washes it down with Orange Snapple. They mutter sleepily and cheerfully, about how late they've been getting home, and about businessmen and protestors. "Nah," says the cop at one point, "they're not stupid. Least I hope they're not stupid."

"I think, regardless the time I get home," says the cadet, "I hit the gym."

"You ever take one of those energy supplements?" the cop asks.

"I did."

"It gives you that little boost."

"But I don't think that shit's good for your liver."

"The FDA says it's okay."

They both laugh quietly.

From 47th Street upwards, cop cars line the street and sit at crosswalks. The cop density increases. The front of the Waldorf is the best: seven uniforms, standing as if posed for a Grecian frieze, take in passers-by in a relaxed, authoritative way. A little to the right of them, a gaggle of plainclothesmen, all mustachioed and--it would appear from their excellent suits and coats--highly placed, chat happily. The plainclothes guys to the left, however, wearing arctic fleece and slacks, are much less cheerful. With a look of grim determination, one says into a cell phone, "This is what I'm being told..."

Every once in a while a cop asks me where I'm going, and tells me to go some other way than the one I had intended. Their manner is near-friendly and professional, similar to that of production assistants protecting a film shoot--except, of course, for the presence of firearms. In front of the Waldorf, a Dodge Caravan pulls up, and its driver talks to a tall, muscular guy in a black beret. A soldier in fatigues pulls a suitcase through the front door. Through large windows, you can look into the hotel restaurant at people in dark suits with good haircuts, drinking coffee and eating eggs. Is it they who are being served by all this, the owners of the world's wealth? There's no way to know. The policemen scowl when you do not move along quickly.

On the scaffolding facing the hotel, this advertising motto is written: NEW YORK - NEW NAME - NEW FACE.