On a typical morning, Grand Central Terminal resembles a ballet of harried commuters passing one another as they run to work.
On Monday, at around 11 a.m., the Grand Central we saw sat nearly empty: the usual rush slowed to barely a trickle.
It was so quiet, the ventilation units hummed louder than the commuters.
One of the few people we spotted wasn't on his way in, but on his way out, to his parents' house in Connecticut.
The one notable fashion accessory he wore served as a dark nod to the times.
"I'm wearing gloves," Nikhil Lai told us just before he boarded a train. "The masks were sold out at the bodega next to my apartment, so this is my protection. I guess I can put my scarf over my mouth if I needed to, but I feel all right for now.
Everywhere we went Monday, the once-sleepless city was practically in hibernation.
In Times Square, the world had stopped crossing through.
The same was true of streets around Manhattan, which looked as empty as they typically do just as the sun rises on a Sunday morning.
In Lower Manhattan, Broadway, usually bumper-to-bumper with taxis, buses, private vehicles and construction vehicles, looked almost like a clear runway.
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At the southern tip of Manhattan, the bull appeared bored as he waited for the bear to leave town.
Sure, it all looked and sounded depressing, especially with the steady rain adding to that feeling the city was stuck in a science fiction movie.
But the absence of crowds was a good thing — a sign New Yorkers who don't work at essential businesses, like supermarkets and hospitals, were staying inside, just as the governor had ordered.
The place we did see some people: the Trader Joe's supermarket on Sixth Avenue, where customers were checking out and, we hope, going back home.