![]() ![]() Patrons were singing along to Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” They had come for the Stonewall but were now settling for Fiddlesticks Pub and Grill on Greenwich Avenue, where televisions broadcast parade footage with no sound. Perhaps the Stonewall was “the impossible dream,” said Ms. “You know what I’m most excited about?” she asked. Emond’s excitement about reaching the Stonewall. I’m going to cry.”įinally, they approached a stretch of restaurants and bars with outdoor dining. “How long ago did you forget where we’re going?” Ms. Emond again consulted her phone for directions. Szot said, “I’m pretty sure I need to go to the hospital - I’m not going back.”īut go back they did, pushing their way back through the crowd under a rainbow spider made of balloons, to a less crowded area near Perry Street, and Ms. Emond announced they would have to reverse course, and an exhausted, exasperated Ms. Making their way toward Seventh Avenue South and West Fourth Street, they worked their way through tangled crowds and were told by a woman in a wheelchair, bedecked in rainbow colors, that the street they had headed down was a dead end. Emond told a reporter, who took them up on the offer. “You can follow us if you want to get lost for the rest of the day,” Ms. They stood on Perry Street and Greenwich Avenue and observed that it was difficult to get anywhere in the Village on this day.
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