New York
The Artifacts of New York’s Pandemic Era
The vintage aura of Sevilla Restaurant — the servers in bow ties, the leather booths, the glow of lanterns — reflects a bygone era of the West Village in Manhattan, where the establishment was founded almost a century ago.
But alongside those period details, there is one dissonant design element that evokes a far more recent moment in time: clear plastic screens dividing the restaurant’s rear tables.
“The partitions came up during the pandemic,” said Miguel Lloves, 47, whose family took over the business in the 1960s. “I did ask my dad if we’d want to take them down. He didn’t let me. Somehow, in his mind, he thinks it’s going to come back.”
Scan your eyes around New York City, and you’ll spot them everywhere, these artifacts of the pandemic, lingering through intent or indifference.
These remnants of that anxious time now serve as some of the only public reminders of those deadly years.
Weathered signs mandating mask use, QR codes posted around restaurant tabletops, faded social distancing stickers plastered on the ground — taken together, they form an urban fossil record of a place that has otherwise largely moved on.
“Forget removing the gum on the sidewalk,” said Patrick Willingham, the executive director of the Public Theater in Manhattan. “The stickers are permanent. They’ll never get them off the ground.”
Take a walk through the Queens neighborhoods surrounding Elmhurst Hospital — the epicenter of the city’s pandemic response — where a “Stop the Spread” sign still hangs prominently near the entrance of the emergency room.
At Hector Escobar Hair Studio, a salon nearby on 37th Avenue, a “Certificate of Disinfection” is centrally displayed on the door. To the south, at Fay Da, a Chinese bakery on Broadway, an “Affirmation of Compliance With Workplace Vaccination Requirements” is posted on the storefront glass. And at Khao Kang, a Thai restaurant on Woodside Avenue, plump bottles of Purell rest on each of the six dining tables inside.
“I think it’s a good reminder for people,” said Joe Secanky, a nurse from Milwaukee, who pumped sanitizer onto his hands one recent afternoon before sharing a fiery spread of food with his wife, Edna.
Like the bottles of sanitizer, certain remnants of the pandemic have maintained some utility in the present day.
Mighty Oak Roasters, in Astoria, Queens, is one of many businesses around the city that has continued to operate a sidewalk window for takeout orders.
“It’s great for people with dogs or strollers and people who ride their bikes,” said Peter Moses, a co-founder of the coffee shop, which keeps a small sign out front telling customers that masks are still appreciated. (At least one staffer, Mr. Moses said, is immunocompromised.)
New Yorkers can also unearth traces of the pandemic in their homes. Alongside the typical detritus — stacks of Covid tests, boxes of gloves, Pelotons — are often things imbued with more meaning.
Mr. Moses, for example, has kept a half-used bottle of hand sanitizer from his friends’ wedding in 2021 on a living room shelf. Its label has a timely message: “Share love, not germs.” He thought it was an object worth remembering.
Likewise, some New Yorkers have tried to turn the vestiges of Covid into something beautiful.
Those ordering from the bar these days at Night of Joy, in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, face a decorative latticework spanning the length of the counter. During the height of the pandemic, the structure had a huge plastic sheet stretched across it.
“I agonized for weeks back then about how to make the most beautiful sneeze guard I could,” said Jen Armstrong, the owner of the bar.
With the help of a local artist, Alexander Barton, she realized her vision, purchasing gardening trellises made of willow from Home Depot and painting them gold.
As the worst of the pandemic wound down, Ms. Armstrong removed the plastic sheets, but kept the barriers. She realized they had become a part of her bar’s aesthetic and a conversation starter. She had received compliments from customers.
And though the trellises have worn down over the years — “Drunk people like to touch fragile things,” she said — she would now rather renovate or replace them than remove them altogether.
“It became a happy accident,” she said. “I’m proud of myself for taking such a horrible object and making it into something that, you know, means something else.”
The most visible traces of the pandemic across the city, though, may be the masks that still dangle from some peoples’ faces.
The days of mandates and widespread usage are, of course, long over. A sign that remains posted near the entrance of the subway at 40th Street and Broadway in Manhattan — “Face coverings are required” — goes entirely ignored by the throngs of riders who pass by each day.
And yet it has remained relatively common to see a few people wearing masks in a crowded train car or indoor space — a practice that was basically nonexistent in the city before the pandemic, aside from the occasional tourist.
A number of the city’s performance spaces — including the Public Theater, where Mr. Willingham is the executive director — have even continued to offer occasional shows where masks are required. And when they are not, Mr. Willingham said, there are still always some mask users in the audience.
“It’s become part of the landscape,” he said.
They’ve become a subtle part of the landscape, too, at Sevilla Restaurant.
Since the end of the pandemic, the restaurant’s in-house guitar player, a musician in his 70s, has continued wearing his mask while singing songs around the dining room.
He does it for his safety, Mr. Lloves said, but it has caused occasional displeasure among certain outspoken guests.
“He’s a constant reminder, and some people don’t like that,” Mr. Lloves said. “I think it disturbs them. They almost don’t want to be reminded. They’d rather not think about it.”
Under Cover
Dear Diary:
On a false-spring afternoon, my boyfriend, Luis, and I went to the wine bar around the corner from my Williamsburg apartment. We were sitting at the bar having a private conversation when I asked Luis for the time.
“It’s 7:30,” a blonde woman beside us said before he could answer.
She turned toward us with the bright, urgent expression of someone who had already decided we were all having a drink together. She was drunk, her mascara intact, but only just.
“What do you guys do?” she asked.
I told her I was a first-year teacher in Queens. Luis said he would be graduating in the spring and was looking for a job in marketing.
She studied us for a moment with theatrical longing, and then she leaned in so far that her shoulder nearly touched mine.
“I have a secret,” she said, beaming. “You can’t tell anyone.”
We promised.
She glanced toward the open windows, then back at us.
“I have my second interview with the C.I.A. tomorrow,” she whispered.
Luis and I looked at each other.
“If anyone asks,” she added, “tell them I’m interviewing with the Culinary Institute of America.”
A few minutes later, we paid our check, wished her luck and promised not to tell a soul.
— David Reyes-Mastroianni
Moon Over Manhattan
Dear Diary:
I was walking out of Central Park on a cold February evening when a woman who couldn’t have been five feet tall approached me.
“Have you seen the moon?” she asked.
I tried to brush her off, but she repeated herself.
I turned to see the most brilliant full moon shining above the park. It stopped me in my tracks on a day when I had been in constant motion.
I turned to thank the woman, but she was gone. It was as if the moon herself had come down to demand attention and had left as soon as attention was paid.
— Rebecca Falcon
Wrapped Up
Dear Diary:
Late one night after I moved to Manhattan from the rural South in 1989, I was riding the No. 6 train home from my job at Mortimer’s when I sat down across from what appeared to be a man completely wrapped in a sheet and lying across several seats.
He was wrapped so tightly that there seemed to be no way he could have done it himself.
I couldn’t discern any movement. Not a breath. Not a sound. Did he need help? Was he dead? Was this performance art? What should I do?
No one else seemed to be paying any attention, but my agitation must have been visible, because finally, an impeccably dressed older woman wearing white gloves and a hat with a lace veil leaned toward me.
“I don’t think he wants to be disturbed,” she said.
— Brian McMaster
Pretty Peaches
Dear Diary:
I was walking down 79th Street when I heard a woman with a large, coral-colored cockatoo on her shoulder say: “Excuse me. Can you hold my bird?”
I looked around. Was she talking to me?
She huffed at my two seconds of confusion.
“Just put your arm out!” she said.
I did, and while this woman answered her phone, her imposing bird with claws as big as my hands hopped onto my wrist, then sidled up my arm and onto my shoulder.
She was heavier than I expected. Not quite like having a dog on my shoulder, but maybe a cat.
I wanted to look at her. It’s not every day you have a large bird sitting on you, but I was afraid that if I did, she might gouge out my eyeballs with her imposing beak.
I decided to fix my eyes on a nearby street sign and hope for the best. The bird told me her name was Peaches, that she was 7 years old and also that she was pretty.
My first thought was: Well, aren’t we a little full of ourselves? But then I caught myself. Good for you, Peaches, I thought. I wish I had your confidence.
I told Peaches I had an appointment and hoped her owner would get off the phone soon.
Then Peaches gripped my shoulder a little tighter with her claws and stretched the top of her body up and over my head so that I was wearing her like a pair of earmuffs.
“I love you,” she said.
We stayed in this magical bird hug for a minute or two before her owner whisked her off my shoulder with a halfhearted “Thanks” and hurried away.
Peaches turned her head 180 degrees, seemed to look at me longingly and disappeared into the day.
— Eileen Kelly
Out of Stock
Dear Diary:
It was a Saturday, and I was on Fifth Avenue and 14th Street. Two young women were walking and talking behind me.
“Is there anything you need at the market?” one said.
“The will to live,” the other replied.
I couldn’t help myself.
“I don’t think they sell that there,” I said.
We all laughed and kept going.
— Nancy Lane
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
This summer’s World Cup will bring millions of soccer lovers to stadiums across North America. But whether it lives up to organizers’ lofty expectations could come down to fans like Brett Shields and John Milce of New South Wales, Australia.
Both men are longtime supporters of the Socceroos, their country’s men’s national soccer team, and both have traveled to the World Cup before. But only one is planning to go to this year’s tournament, which runs from June 11 to July 19 in the United States, Canada and Mexico.
Mr. Shields, 59, is coming. He already has the proper travel authorization from past visits to see his daughter, who lives in San Francisco. He plans to stay with her and attend Socceroos matches there and in Seattle.
Mr. Milce, 76, who has been to six World Cups since 1966, is staying home. He said he had made comments online about President Trump’s policies and feared that he could be denied entry at the border because of the administration’s proposed social media checks and broader immigration crackdown.
“I’m not a poor man, but with the costs involved, it was too much to risk,” Mr. Milce said.
With the first kickoff less than 60 days away, tourism and hospitality leaders in the 11 U.S. host cities are watching international fans closely. The United States was the only major nation to register a decline in international tourism in 2025, and hints of lackluster demand have anxiety running high.
The research firm Tourism Economics projects that more than 1.2 million international visitors will travel to the United States for the World Cup. That includes nearly 750,000 who would not have otherwise come, amounting to a roughly 1.1 percentage point increase in international arrivals.
Still, the firm this month revised down its forecast for the rate of recovery from last year’s drop in tourists. Visa restrictions, fears of immigration agents (including at World Cup matches), an increase in phone searches at borders and, for fans, the exorbitant costs of match tickets and transportation are just some of the barriers keeping people away.
Mr. Shields said that if he didn’t already have his travel authorization and a free place to stay, “I doubt whether I’d probably travel over to the World Cup in the current climate.”
Safety Concerns and Travel Bans
The World Cup, which drew 3.4 million spectators in Qatar in 2022, is a blockbuster pretty much by definition, and organizers expect a large share of bookings, both domestic and international, to come in the final two months.
The U.S. Travel Association said this month that the World Cup has “extraordinary potential to deliver major economic gains” across the United States, but added that “safety concerns, policy perceptions and entry barriers could limit America’s ability to fully capitalize on the opportunity.”
In Seattle, the number of expected domestic World Cup visitors has grown by 30 percent since 2024, said Michael Woody, the chief engagement officer for Visit Seattle. At the same time, the expected number of international visitors has fallen by 17 percent, driven by a particularly sharp drop-off in Canadians.
Fans coming from countries like Haiti and Iran, on a list of 19 countries whose citizens Mr. Trump has barred from entering the United States, won’t be able to attend their national teams’ group stage matches at all. Supporters of soccer powerhouses like Ivory Coast and Senegal, among the 14 African nations whose citizens face tight visa restrictions, could be forced to post bonds of up to $15,000 to enter the country.
Adem Asha, 32, a Turkish citizen who lives in Slovakia, obtained a U.S. visa last year in order to watch Lionel Messi, of Argentina, and Cristiano Ronaldo, of Portugal, in what could be their last World Cup. But Mr. Asha, who was born in Syria, worried he could still be targeted by immigration agents. He decided this spring to call off his trip, a conclusion that left him “disappointed but also relieved.”
“I really don’t feel like going there, or spending that much money to go there, and then being denied at the port of entry,” said Mr. Asha, who said he did not consider going to Canada or Mexico because the matches he wanted to see, and the other sites he hoped to visit, were all in the United States.
Banking on Late Bookings
U.S. host cities are pinning their hopes on last-minute travelers. Zane Harrington, a spokesman for Visit Dallas, said he expected “a majority” of fans heading to the city to book their stays in the two months remaining before kickoff — or even during the tournament as teams advance out of the group stage.
Martha Sheridan, the chief executive of Meet Boston, the city’s marketing and tourism organization, said ticket sales for Gillette Stadium’s seven matches were “robust,” and that they were split roughly in thirds among New Englanders, domestic visitors from the rest of the country and international travelers.
Demand for hotels in Boston in June is up about 11 percent compared with the same period last year, she said. That increase was smaller than what her team had expected to see by this point when it began planning in 2024, she added, but she felt “very optimistic” that bookings would continue to rise in the coming weeks.
FIFA in recent weeks released blocks of thousands of hotel rooms across the three host countries, while local host committees downsized fan festivals in locations including New Jersey, San Francisco and Seattle, fueling discussion over whether demand was falling short of expectations.
But Jamie Lane, the chief economist and senior vice president for analytics at AirDNA, a company that collects and analyzes short-term-rental data, said it was common practice for major event hosts to scale back their room blocks as they make final preparations for staffing and sponsorships, and that the changes were not a sign of sluggish demand.
A spokesman for FIFA said the changes to fan festivals were not made in response to demand, noting that some of the events will now take place in several neighborhoods rather than in a large central location.
A Bigger, Less Predictable Event
Data published this month by AirDNA shows a rise in short-term-rental bookings, to varying degrees, in every host city. Bookings on group stage game days were up the most in Monterrey, Mexico, rising 564 percent, on average, compared with the same dates last year.
Bookings were up 209 percent in Mexico City, 171 percent in Kansas City, 152 percent in Miami and 52 percent in Toronto, according to AirDNA.
A range of factors, including which teams are competing and to what extent cities regulate short-term rentals, influence those figures. In San Francisco, where short-term-rental bookings were up 28 percent on group stage game days, Anna Marie Presutti, the chief executive of the San Francisco Travel Association, said she thought demand didn’t rise to its full potential because the war in Iran is complicating travel for fans from Jordan and Qatar, two teams that are playing there.
In New York, where short-term rentals are tightly restricted, hotel bookings during the World Cup period are “more or less the same” compared with the same period last year, said Vijay Dandapani, the chief executive of the Hotel Association of New York City.
International travelers generally stay longer and spend more money than Americans, giving them an outsize economic impact. An analysis published by Airbnb in February found that non-Americans coming to the United States for the World Cup planned to visit more destinations and travel three nights longer, on average, than Americans.
Sylvia Weiler, the president of global destinations at the travel marketing and data company Sojern, said the revamped structure of this World Cup — spread across three countries and featuring a record 48 teams — made it hard to project how travel patterns would play out as the tournament approached.
“We talk about what was expected,” Ms. Weiler said. “I would always put a slight caveat, because we did not know what to expect.”
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A 76-year-old man died on Friday after being shoved down the stairs at the 18th Street subway station in Manhattan, and the police arrested a suspect who had been arrested multiple times in recent months and had been discharged from Bellevue Hospital’s psychiatric ward just hours before.
The victim, Ross Falzone, landed on his head at the bottom of the stairs and suffered a traumatic brain injury, a fractured spine and a fractured rib after a stranger rushed forward and pushed him, the police said.
Mr. Falzone had been walking north on Seventh Avenue toward the subway station in the Chelsea neighborhood on Thursday evening, said Brad Weekes, assistant commissioner of public information for the Police Department. Walking about 30 yards behind him was the stranger, according to surveillance footage from the scene, Mr. Weekes said. As Mr. Falzone reached the station, the man rushed forward and pushed him down the stairs. He was taken to Bellevue where he died shortly before 3 a.m. on Friday.
The death sparked outrage at City Hall. Mayor Zohran Mamdani quickly called for an investigation into how Bellevue handled the discharge of the suspect and suggested that institutional problems at the hospital might have led to the random attack.
“I am horrified by the killing of Ross Falzone and the circumstances that led to it,” Mr. Mamdani said in a news release on Friday, in which he ordered “an immediate investigation on what steps should have been taken to prevent this tragedy.”
Police identified the suspect as Rhamell Burke, 32.
In the three months preceding the attack, Mr. Burke was arrested four times, Mr. Weekes said, including an arrest on Feb. 2 in connection with an assault on a Port Authority police officer.
Mr. Burke’s most recent interaction with the police began at around 3:30 p.m. Thursday, when he approached a group of N.Y.P.D. officers outside the 17th Precinct station house on East 51st Street, Mr. Weekes said. He grabbed a stick from a pile of garbage on the street and approached the officers, who told him to drop the stick. When he did, officers placed Mr. Burke in a police vehicle and drove him to Bellevue, where he was admitted to the emergency room at around 3:40 p.m., Mr. Weekes said. Mr. Burke was taken to the hospital’s Comprehensive Psychiatric Emergency Program for evaluation and treatment, Mr. Weekes said, and was released from the hospital one hour later.
He was just a mile and a half from the hospital when he encountered Mr. Falzone at around 9:30 p.m. Thursday.
On Friday afternoon, police officers found Mr. Burke in Penn Station, where they arrested him. He was in custody on Friday evening. It was unclear Friday if Mr. Burke had a lawyer.
The mayor said he had requested help from the New York State Department of Health, which will investigate the decision to release Mr. Burke from Bellevue and conduct a review of similar cases at the hospital. The state agency also will investigate psychiatric evaluation and discharge procedures across NYC Health and Hospitals, the city’s public hospital system, according to the news release.
Mr. Falzone was a retired high school teacher who lived alone for many years in an apartment building on the Upper West Side. His friends were in shock on Friday about his death. They shared memories of an affable but private man who rarely spoke about his family or personal life.
Mr. Falzone had been recovering from a recent surgery and seemed more mobile and happy, said Marc Stager, 78, Mr. Falzone’s next-door neighbor on a tree-lined block of West 85th Street. He was known as a cheerful “yapper,” said Briel Waxman, a neighbor. He was the kind of New Yorker who enjoyed chatting with neighbors about historical details of his building and seeing performances at Lincoln Center with friends.
“He was always out and about,” said Ms. Waxman, 35, who often returned to her apartment at midnight or 1 a.m. to find Mr. Falzone arriving home at the same time. “I was like, ‘I don’t know if I’m proud of you or embarrassed of myself,’” she remembered telling him.
Mr. Falzone had wide taste in music — opera, classical, jazz, pop — and neighbors could tell he was home when they heard notes escaping from under his apartment door, Mr. Stager said.
He was “a helpless old guy,” said Mr. Stager, who added that he was “disappointed and shocked, frankly, that somebody could do such a thing” as shove such a defenseless person down the stairs.
When Ms. Waxman moved into the building five years ago, Mr. Falzone was among the first people to welcome her, she said. He once brought a package to her door that had been delivered to the wrong unit and shared that what is now a blank wall in her apartment had once been a fireplace.
Ms. Waxman sat in her living room on Friday and cried as she talked, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She remembered Mr. Falzone as “just overall, nice, talkative, genuine human.”
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