After a film screening at MoMA I’m walking back toward the F train on 6th Avenue. I notice, as I approach Rockefeller Center, that the sidewalk traffic seems unusually dense for this time of night. When I reach 51st Street I realize why this is the case: police barricades have entirely blocked off the intersection, and all pedestrian traffic is being funneled across the avenue. Annoyed to have to make this detour, but seeing no other option (for now people have filed in behind me, and I’ve quite literally been swept up into the crowd) I cross 6th Avenue. Now I have a full view of the obstruction, which is an enormous media spectacle – the MTV music video awards show. 6th Avenue is a mess of black SUVs, lighting, security personnel and media equipment. Crowds press in from every direction, eager to witness some small part of this hype-fueled extravaganza. The throng I’m in has now thickened due to the wall of onlookers who block most of the sidewalk; only a single-file line can weave through this gauntlet. A sickening feeling of claustrophobia and mild panic sets in: there’s no going back, and the way forward is by no means guaranteed. I inch along, struggling to maintain a minimal distance from the person in front of me as I feel the hot breath of the person behind me at the back of my neck. Occasionally a ripple of excitement passes through the crowd – someone has caught a brief glimpse of some celebrity or other. People have their phones raised, they crane their necks and leaning on each other. As we approach 50th Street the progress grinds to a near halt. Visions of a modern-day Dante’s Inferno pass before my eyes as I imagine being stuck here for hours, an innocent victim of the pathological fever of celebrity worship. But no – as I arrive at last at the street corner I see an escape route, a narrow passage between a row of barricades and the sidewalk. I worm my way through and walk-run the entire block to the relative safety of 7th Avenue.