Early morning descended on New York City, fine clouds appearing in the dull sky.
The street was littered with NYPD vehicles. The shutters were down on most of the shops in the street, the sidewalks completely deserted but for the footsteps of Policemen. Three Officers hauled sturdy metal barricades into place on the sidewalk while two others placed orange safety cones in threes on the street corners.
Traffic was being diverted, but there were no signs to alert drivers of any sort of diversion - only the tall, burly Police Chief who, with regimental stiffness, chopped his hand at each passing car.
A domestic goods store began to let up its shutters. The early morning sunlight glanced off the window, glamorizing the sight of the young girl leaning over the row of televisions on display, slapping each one with a duster. The girl moved on to a group of vaccuum cleaners set next to washing machines. She huffed and hopped up onto one of the washing machines, the duster slung over her shoulder, her legs swinging.
A few guests milled around the foyer of The Plaza Hotel, all busily buried in their own loudly private conversations.
At the reception desk, the secretary had her head down, working away on a Royal typewriter. A concierge rushed by, carrying four large bags, his face flushed light pink with effort. The secretary pulled the now finished paper from the typewriter and inspected the page for smudges. Satisfied, she cast the paper aside, tapping her peach-painted nails against the marble-top counter. Her eyes scanned the foyer for any sign of management staff - the area was clear. She slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out a compact mirror, face powder and lipstick. Touching up her makeup and fluffing her already stiffly coiffed and lacquered hair, she smiled at her mirror snapped shut and her hands slammed back down onto her typewriter as the Hotelier walked past her desk.
He breezed into the Palm Court Restaurant, his dark suit and stoic manner reminiscent of Clark Gable. Fetching a cut-glass tumbler from a dark wood cabinet, he mixed up an Old Fashioned and paced back and forth in a continuous loop, his eyes fixed on the window and out towards the Police Officers and the now cordoned off street in front of the Hotel. He pursed his lips and his eyes rose to the heavens before taking a final large gulp of his Old Fashioned and setting the glass back down atop the cabinet.
The countdown was in motion. It was only a matter of hours until sheer chaos ripped through the city. Only a matter of hours until the busiest week at The Plaza Hotel began.