The smell of warm street food fills the air, mixed with perfume and alcohol. The people are a tide, rising in towards the square, then back out to the shops. Amid the chaos, no one knows where to go.
Many shout to friends on their multicolor flip phones, barely able to hear even their own voice, deciding where to meet up, not realizing they're still ten blocks apart. No one can tell what street they're on, not in the dark, not in this mayhem.
Even through their platform sneakers, the people can feel the pulse of the music on the street. For blocks surrounding Times Square, speakers blast Christina Aguilera, the show from the main stage.
Most have something to eat or drink: bitter alcohol for adults and cans of Surge for kids. Banners hang from every building in sight celebrating the new year. There's a nervous anticipation never felt on a New Year's Eve before. They all quietly wonder if Y2K is a real problem, laughing with their friends about it but worrying over their digital calendars ending. In some communities, the fear has spread like wildfire. They are not celebrating the night.
The majority of New Yorkers, however, are beaming, exhilarated citizens. They want to revel in the carelessness of winter break before it ends. They want to be a part of the start of a new millennium.