So it's Monday and I'm driving around looking for a parking space for quite some time.  If you've ever tried to do this in New York, you can imagine that after 20 minutes I'm getting pretty frustrated.  I am in this predicament because I arrived to move my car about ten minutes later than usual.  It would have only been seven, but I stopped for a couple minutes when a driver asked me for directions.  After that, everything was full.

I try parking in this one space, but there's barely room in between the sign and the closest car.  I've just barely gotten my tire behind the line without hitting the car behind me when some guy stopped at the light ahead informs me that it won't work.  I check my phone, and sure enough, I could get towed for having my carriage above the line.

So I keep driving, muttering, getting excited, seeing yet another fire hydrant, muttering some more about how this is one of the many reasons why I don't like the city, although I admit that something magical will probably happen later and I'll think it's all worth the hassle.

Then this song about potato chips comes on my jazz playlist, and I see this guy putting stuff in the back of his car.  I pull up and ask him if he's moving, and he says, "Yup."  Then he turns back and jokes, "Five dollars."  I doubt he would have stalled his plans just to extort five bucks from me, but I would have paid him anyway.

When I finish parallel parking, I look to my left and realize I am next to the Manhattan School of Music.  When I get out of the car and look up to my right, I recognize Sakura Park.

Magic, indeed