I was there. This NYT article is a complete work of fiction:
It is certainly hard to measure, achieve or proclaim perfection. Every person in the park — indeed, every person scattered around every corner of the five boroughs — probably has his or her own criteria for perfection, especially the New York City variety. Is it sitting on a stoop? Out on a third date? Being happily asleep?
Yet, if you were to invoke this highly subjective word to describe one evening in the middle of Manhattan island, in the middle of summer, in earshot of the expectant tunings of the instruments, you could do a lot worse than late Tuesday.
So … it was the perfect New York night.
It was so overcrowded. People were complete a-holes, stepping on top of everyone’s blankets, foods, and heads.
Fights broke out.
OK, not actual fisticuffs, but serious yelling matches.