Sitting on a park bench, eating a hot dog, a longtime Flushing resident philosophizes about global politics and the finer points of lunch.

"Who needs Windows on the World," he says, staring up at the Atlantic ocean. "I got a much better view right here."

Two women in spandex proceed to rollerblade around the world in 80 seconds.

"Ya see what I mean," says the man on the bench, wiping the crumbs off his chin.

Meanwhile, a couple, walking hand and hand, start having an argument.

"Just forget it," the woman says, dropping the man’s hand, and walking toward the plaque at the edge of the Unisphere’s fountain.

The man pauses for a moment, looks up at the Unisphere, and then back down to the ground. "I’m sorry," he tells her.

"Do you know what it says on that plaque," I say to the man on the bench.

"No, what?"

"Peace Through Understanding."

1 p.m. — A Taxi on Queens Boulevard

"You know," said the driver, while making a left turn from the right lane. "Most cabbies don’t like Queens."

Looking up from the Daily News, I wait for an explanation. I force this issue. "Why is that?" I ask.

"Because they don’t understand it," the driver says. "They say, you just can’t make any money in Queens."

Merging onto the Long Island Expressway, and turning off the radio, the driver continues.

"But I," he pauses for a moment, while changing lanes. "I have found the secret. The secret to making money in Queens."

The driver, as if he were rehearsing this dialogue for a play, waits for his cue.

"What’s the secret?" I ask.

"Can’t tell ya," he says, extremely satisfied.

"Come on," I press the point. "This is strictly off the record. I’m not going to tell anyone."

"Can’t tell ya," he repeats again, signaling for the exit.

2 p.m. — Steinway Street:

Dubbed the "World’s Largest Shopping Mall, " Astoria’s Steinway Street, a cornucopia of larger stores and small shops, is a shopaholic’s dream come true.

Standing at the intersection of Broadway and Steinway Street, you see a flow of shoppers heading in and out of The Wiz. The scent of gyros and souvlaki wafts along Broadway, mixing with the bubbling cheese that tops Polito’s Pizza and the sweet and sour scent of a local Chinese restaurant.

On the long stretch of sidewalk that leads to an intersection at 31st Avenue, a Nine West shop boasts its newest line of shoes. Students from local schools stop at The Gap to check out the latest denims, and a slim Pakistani man huddles at the corner of a storefront, peddling big name perfumes at rockbottom prices.

The myriad shopping possibilities equals the diversity of this community. Steinway Street has always been a reflection of its neighbors.

It’s alive and vital on this sunny afternoon. And Steinway Street continues to pulsate with excitement and enterprise long after the sun goes down.

3 p.m. — Astoria Studios

It’s mid-afternoon and already the line snakes along 36th Street, turning the corner at 34th Avenue.

It’s the busiest day of the week–the day the Cos’ steps onstage at Astoria Studios to tape a live-audience episode of his hit TV show.

These fans of Bill Cosby are true-blue, faithful viewers of reruns featuring Heathcliff Huxtable and his brood of feisty offspring. They’ve come to Astoria on this day to catch a glimpse of the Cos’ and his new show.

The Astoria Studios complex is as old as the memories of its neighbors. The Marx Brothers filmed here, along with W.C. Fields and–yes, Rudolph Valentino.

Neil Simon put his Brooklyn memories onto celluloid at the Astoria Studios. And in short time, Bert, Ernie and Big Bird called the studios home.

The Sesame Street gang was joined, recently, by a loveable bear as the cast of "Bear in the Big Blue House" moved to Astoria. And let’s not forget Lifetime–the "channel for women"–which was born at the Astoria complex.

Astoria Studios’ reach has spread throughout the immediate area, resulting in the purchase of abandoned factories and unutilized parcels of land. The neighborhood has prospered as a result, as new blood filters into the old neighborhood in the form of young studio employees.

Back on line, it doesn’t matter if there’s rain, snow, sleet or pavement-melting heat– the faithful come to the Astoria Studios–tickets in hand–to wait on line for a glimpse of the Cos’.

Thanks, Doctor Huxtable–we’re all better for your being here.

4 p.m. — The Playground

Drugs and comedies unfold daily on the playground’s stage.

It’s 4 p.m. at Austin Park, and the sun is beating down as children play and parents watch.

All ages of children cruise around on their bicycles, proving their prowess to their moms and dads. Most of the children are well behaved, sans a boy about five raising hell and chasing every girl in the park. The boy’s mother didn’t have too hard a time tracking down the mischievous child; she just followed the overwhelming sounds of loud crying and screaming.

The sounds of children and parents are soon drowned out by the deafening sounds of the Long Island Railroad passing by. The loud train makes more than one child cry, and causes others to frolick in puddles.

Luckily, a hot dog stand soon opens shop, just in time for me and everyone else to stuff their faces. Soda and chocolate milk are the beverages of choice.

The basketball and handball courts fill up as noon approaches. The first eight or so arrivals at the basketball courts join a pick-up game, playing for not only exercise, but bragging rights. On the handball courts, two teenage boys show off their backhand as a girl walking her small dog and an older man feeding pigeons watch.

5 p.m. — On the Q17

Mass transit isn’t just a means to an end, it’s an adventure.

It’s a dreary, rainy day, and the Q17 is like the calm before the rush hour storm.

Most passengers on the bus stare wearily out the windows, blurred by intense rain. Two teenage girls discuss pimples and the Internet, loudly giggling and very much in contrast to the seemingly exhausted older passengers.

The bus driver discusses the severe weather with a woman who has just boarded. Another man inquires if anyone has change of a dollar. Someone complies.

A child rests in his mother’s arms, shamelessly picking his nose. A man is forced to stand, but passes the time happily in conversation with the woman in front of him.

The bus slowly becomes filled as it nears Main Street — the last stop. As I get my transfer ready, yawns are aplenty from the wearisome travelers.

As the commuters get ready to step out of the bus, they, as do I, get their umbrellas ready and head home.

6 p.m. — Lucille Roberts in Bayside

Over pulsing house music, gym rats from the lobby to the locker rooms of Lucille Roberts in Bayside can hear the unmistakably husky (and slightly hoarse) voice of instructor Lisanne Lobello. "Come on, Tuesday," she shouts. "Let’s Go."

Lisanne’s 5:45 kickboxing class has about 30 people in it- many of them refugees from Dina DiMarco’s packed-to-the-max 7:15 class.

"Last week there were over 100 people in Dina’s class," says Lucille’s employee Ilene Goldberg. "My girlfriends and I were taking the class out in the lobby."

While kickboxing seems to be the craze everywhere these days, Lucille Roberts Ki-Bo classes are a phenomenon.

"They really target your hips and thighs," says member Annette Stematalatos.

Upstairs, members can be seen working their biceps and triceps on Lucille Roberts machines designed especially for women’s bodies. Others run the treadmills, climb the stairmasters, or ride the bicycles.

"I love the machines," says member Mary Ellen Seizenger, working her inner thighs on what’s often called the birthing table. "That’s what I come for."

Accessible only to females, the gym is a pink and yellow shrine to women’s fitness.

"I prefer not having guys around," says one sweaty member. "I like to know that when I’m on the floor doing donkey kicks, no one’s checking out my---."

7 p.m. — Angelo’s Pizza

Angelo’s Pizza has been a Kew Garden Hills fixture for over 30 years — and the pizza is as good as ever.

At 7 p.m., the eatery is packed; the lines for ordering only get longer as the hungry await a fresh pie from the oven. Customers’ stomachs growl almost as loudly as they do.

The hectic atmosphere is heightened as the phone rings and take-out orders are filled. In the back, Italian is not spoken but shouted.

Once fed, the large crowd mellows out and enjoys their cheesy meals. An older man sits, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the Yankees game on the television. Many read the paper, and as it gets later, the garbage and street are filled with losing lotto tickets.

The manager strikes up casual conversation with customers, reveling in the Yankees’ dominance. When a police car passes by, the crowd empties out a little as cars are moved from in front of the hydrant.

Teenagers park their bikes outside, and spend the evening chomping down on pepperoni slice. In the restaurant on the other side, waitresses take orders from dining lovebirds–many of whom are resisting garlic bread.

8 p.m. — Community Board Meeting

In a red brick church in Flushing, Community Board 7 holds its monthly meeting. People of all backgrounds and ages sit intermittently in folding metal chairs, listening to speakers make their cases at the lectern. Some of the seated are still in their work clothes; others are retired and come in with the aid of their walkers.

Tonight CB7 will vote on a variety of issues, following a short discussion period. Tonight’s discussion centers on Flushing Hospital and potential threats to the community if it closes.

A hospital union member makes an impassioned plea for the Governor to look into issues surrounding the running of the hospital.

On the sidelines are the people who make everything run smoothly. A young woman hands out an agenda for the evening’s events and issues. Everyone stops at her table when they walk in, to find out what’s going on that night.

More often than not, it’s not earth-shattering issues that are brought to light. But to the people who live in the Flushing community, they are paramount.

9 p.m. — Aqueduct

There are few more exciting ways to spend an evening losing money, than at Aqueduct.

It’s a buck to get in and a buck to park in the lot — complete with sections named after famous racehorses such as Native Dancer. There are yellow taxicabs, Jaguars and Chevys littering the lot. At the entrance, a sign reads "Racing Fans Only."

In the bandstand, men crowd in front of television screens listing pay outs and odds for the upcoming race. Below, thoroughbreds are led by their grooms into the tack area for some last minute primping before jockeys climb onto their backs.

The jockeys are up and the fillies make their way to the starting gate. The bugle player in a red jacket heralds the start of the race. The horses are in the gate. And they’re off! As they come around the stretch, the crowd moves closer to the fence for a better look. "Come on Stellar Daughter, come on girl," shouts a middle-aged man in a gray tam.

As the horses make their way to the finishing line, Stellar Daughter falls behind as the second horse lurches forward to the finish line.

10 p.m. — The Supermarket

Hey, come hell or high-water, you’ve gotta eat. So with the cupboards bare, you’re off to the supermarket — to that land of a thousand choices, and one open checkout.

At 10 p.m. the place is still too busy. It used to be that Friday night and Saturday morning were the times to avoid supermarket shopping. But since most stores are now open 24 hours, people have adjusted their lifestyles to shop when they absolutely must. Anxiety sets in shortly after we begin to cruise the aisles – so many choices. Low-fat, no-fat, chopped, chunked, whole – and that’s just the pet food.

A young man stands puzzled in front of 50 types of disposable diapers. He watches the plastic packs, as if waiting for one of them to say, "Me! It’s me she wants!" He gives up and in desperation reaches for his cell phone to call home. Better right than sorry.

Rotisserie chickens are spinning on a spit behind the deli counter. There are a dozen kinds of apples in the fresh produce section – and in the dead of winter, watermelon slices and strawberries remind us of spring – at exorbitant prices. We stop to buy a few lottery tickets (please, get me outta here!), as we spot a line at the in-market bank.

We head to the checkout and wonder why 21 registers are closed. Two boys run circles around the checkout as an older boy kicks around a large beach ball. A man signs a credit slip to pay for his groceries with a charge card. Ah, modern money!

This is definitely not the way your grandmother shopped.

11 p.m. — Arraignment Court

It’s much too cold, sitting in the wood-paneled courtroom in the basement of the Kew Gardens Criminal Court building. But Arraignments Court is notorious for its bone-chilling reception to spectators and suspects alike.

It’s just after 11 p.m. The middle-aged woman standing before the judge looks like anybody’s mother. How could she be here?

This can’t be. Anybody’s mother a drug smuggler? Caught bringing hundreds of kilos of cocaine into Kennedy Airport – and Queens. The woman now speaks to the court, aided by an interpreter. Over and over, she insists she knew nothing of the killer cargo that was stashed in secreted compartments in her designer luggage.

The woman’s shoulders slump as the judge orders her held in lieu of $1.5 million bail.

The night takes on a humorous edge as a prostitute – a male dressed as a female hooker – cries to the judge.

Someone stole his shoes. And his time spent locked up with male prisoners was more than he could handle. "Why," he asks, "was I not put into a cell with females to wait to see a judge?"

The judge explains, "It’s simple. You’re physiologically a male. Therefore you must be housed with other males."

The hooker wipes away tears and adjusts a pageboy wig as the judge says, "Time served."

12 a.m. – Firehouse

Just back from a run, this team of Queens firefighters breaks-up to take care of in-house chores and local inspections.

Some of the firefighters stay behind to clean the "rig," tools and equipment. Others participate in "house drills" – practice runs in rooms designed to duplicate local houses. These drills familiarize firefighters with the layout of buildings to better enable them to handle a fire.

One man is placed in a Watch Area – behind a computer and next to a telephone. Their duty is to coordinate incoming calls, advise others of a fire and coordinate multiple response units at area blazes.

Still other firefighters take on the job of making the meal. But it never fails, firefighters said.

"Get a really good meal and you get a job."

Then it’s into the garage where they don fire gear and jump onto the "rig."

"There are lots of ruined meals," they said. "Lots."

"Oh, well," they added. "There’s always the microwave."