This has been in New York, as in many other cities around the world, a punishing summer. On one of the first nights the weather gave us a respite, I went to a new place for dinner, a Turkish restaurant a friend had enthusiastically recommended to me. I had intended to go for several weeks but the weather didn’t help me to make a decision about it.

An Adana Kebab plate looked particularly enticing, among other things because my maternal grandmother had been borne in that city. The dish was as delightful as I hoped it would be, a real treat. I mentioned my connection to Adana to the restaurant’s owner. “Oh, Adana,” he said, “what wonderful food they have there!”

After a short walk, I was in Washington Square Park, perhaps the most famous and active park in the city, visited every day by thousands of people. Here come tourists, neighborhood folks, misfits, artists of every kind and (including con artists), and a modern curse, drug dealers and buyers. It is a truly strange but wonderfully attractive mixture of people.

I had started walking towards the center of the park when I heard some wonderful jazz music coming from an alley. As I approached, I saw a trio of a drummer, a double bass player and a saxophonist performing. There was a relatively small, but appreciative audience.

A cool breeze coming through the tall trees, a full moon and an old-fashion looking street lantern made it all look like a Magritte painting, an additional bonus to a beautiful night.

As I was listening enraptured to the music, I saw in the scant evening light a beautiful black woman slowly passing by, dancing with incredible grace to the music being played. She was followed by her companion, who was offering one dollar cold water bottles in a hush voice. She interrupted her dancing to handle the water bottles to the customers and to receive payment.

The person sitting next to me bought a bottle and paid her with a $20 bill. She took the money and handed it to her companion who continued walking without giving her back the change. “Hey,” she said to him, “it is a $20 bill!” In what seemed like a well-rehearsed act he answered laughing, “Well, everybody has to make a living, isn’t that so!”

He handed her the change, took her by her waist and now the two of them were dancing to the jazz tunes, this time to music by the legendary Brazilian musician Antonio Carlos Jobim. They danced and laughed, danced and laughed, their erotic vibes filling the atmosphere. In the meantime, the cold water bottles were waiting on the side. Beautiful music, beautiful dance, good humor. It was a moment to treasure. It was another summer evening in New York.

César Chelala is a writer on human rights and foreign policy issues.