My friend, Jenni, was visiting from Scotland and had never been to Central Park, so I took her there for a long walk, a ride on the carousel and some wine at the boathouse. We sat outside.
We were about three sips into that sweet part of the day when this ancient, cantaloupe-size, gnarled head rises out of the green water, about a yard away from our feet. It opens its cave of a mouth and Jenni screams. I shove my chair back and gape. The waitress walks over and smiles. “Turtle,” she says. “And if you think that’s something, you should see the fish that are in this lake. They look like they’re left over from a nuclear war.”