From goodbyes to reunions, it’s all happening at the airport.

Imagine driving completely around Kennedy Airport in 15 minutes. It’s not impossible.

At 1 a.m. JFK Airport is that quiet.

"You want to know what happens at this airport at night? Nothing!" says Chicagoan Holly Johnson. "Who closes an airport?!"

Most JFK terminals close at 11:30 p.m., so in the wee-hours the action takes place at Arrivals Hall.

Arrivals Hall, a spartan, single-level facility, houses a currency exchange, a post office, ATM machines, telephones, ground transportation and hotel reservation desks, a gift shop/newsstand and a restaurant. All but the restaurant close overnight.

In a New York odyssey, passengers wander, window shop, and sleep. Many are too weary to snooze and too aggravated to talk. But some take things in stride, like Chicagoans Alison and William Beucler.

"We were in Barbados," says Alison Beucler. "For the return flight they scheduled us on the wrong plane. We got to the airport about 15 minutes after the plane left."

For an additional $1000, they got to Kennedy. A cab-ride to LaGuardia connected them to their 6:30 a.m. shuttle to Chicago.

"We’re supposed to be in Chicago right now," exclaim the Beucler’s. "But we’re in New York!"

2 a.m. — Home Depot

If the toilet breaks down in the middle of the night, Home Depot has an entire aisle of new ones in every shape, model and price.

Contractors load up enormous metal carts with pieces of lumber, sheet rock, and flooring — in preparation for their 5 a.m. job.

In tan work boots and checkered wool jackets, workers make their way past the garden hoses, lawnmowers, sinks, faucets, paint, power tools, carpets, and dusk masks.

A young man wheels around in a mini-forklift, zipping through aisles carrying oversized pieces of plywood. A few pigeons cling to the rafters of the huge warehouse.

While most people are sleeping, an insomniac looks for the perfect houseplant in the nursery.

In a few hours, Nathan’s, near the lumber area, will be open to serve bagels, egg sandwiches and coffee to the early risers or insomniacs — depending on whether they have slept in the last 24 hours.

Whatever the hour, Home Depot is open and so are its cash registers.

3 a.m. – Emergency Room

People limp in and limp out. There are an assortment of ailments in this too-musty, windowless room.

An infant cries constantly – not loud, just loud enough. His mother has brought him here because his high fever has her worried. The baby had a fever all day – but this mom waited until the middle of the night to seek help.

A man with chest pains is hustled off into an examining room, and a small boy waits while doctors check his x-rays to determine if his arm is broken.

Everything stops as a siren screeches in the distance. Within minutes, doctors and nurses in this emergency room are ready and waiting for a gunshot victim – a teenage gang member – to arrive.

Life never stops here – the frantic pace continues like a heartbeat, faltering only long enough to get a jump-start. The pace quickens when a patient arrives, bleeding severely or in need of resuscitation.

By law, patients can’t be turned away from emergency rooms if they can’t pay. So each new patient is a potential pile of paperwork for hospital staffers.

Around 3:30 a.m. things get quiet – but not for long. Within minutes, an ambulance wails outside as a young mother walks through the door with three young children. Did someone say chicken pox?

4 a.m. — Donovan’s Pub

in Woodside

As it is next door to a Catholic Church, Donovan’s is where everyone used to come after mass.

But at 4 a.m. it is a different scene. The sun has not yet come through the stained glass windows, but it will soon. The jukebox plays Frank Sinatra while regulars drink Irish Whiskey at the bar.

Until recently, Tullamore Dew, a whiskey made in Northern Ireland, was not available at Donovan’s. Since tensions in Northern Ireland have mellowed slightly, a bottle of the Ulster whiskey makes its home behind the bar.

Under Tiffany lamps, next to one of the working fireplaces, two older men sit discussing the news of the day. Finally the bartender announces last call, and with a few nods, he serves the last drinks of a long evening.

The 7 train roars above on Roosevelt Ave. A few late-night revelers make their way to the door.

5 a.m. — The Laundromat

There’s more to the laundromat than separating lights from darks.

More than a dozen machines are whirring and spinning at this ungodly hour, as the sun tries to break through the frosty fog of midnight.

Rock music plays overhead as a woman, dressed in a clown suit, tosses her wet clothing into a dryer. The clown lady presses the "start" button and sits back to watch one of six televisions in the laundromat as her clothes begin to tumble.

Overcome with curiosity, we ask, "Why the clown suit?" The woman breaks into a smile as she explains, "It’s what I do for a living." It’s simple, she says. Bone-tired after putting in eight hours, she grabbed her wash and headed for the all-night laundromat without changing.

"It’s not something I would do in the daytime," she adds.

As we speak, two Pakastani men walk into the huge storefront that boasts 60 machines and 60 dryers–a symbol of the 90s.

Caught up in chatter, the men walk to a dryer and toss in a pillowcase full of dirty clothes. One man tosses a capful of liquid detergent into the clothes, feeds the machine some coins and walks away, thinking his clothes are in a "wash" cycle.

The night manager at the laundromat catches the mistake and walks over to the machine, calling out to the two men, who are too caught up in conversation to hear him.

Shaking his head, the manager opens the dryer and pulls the clothes into a wire basket. It’s his task now to clean the soapy mess from the barrel of the dryer.

Betcha don’t see this stuff in Ohio — or Manhattan.

6 a.m. — Buddhist Temple

Over 100 people kneel on purple velvet knee rests as they chant in unison, at a service conducted solely in Chinese. A moment later, all heads rest on the floor, to show humility in the face of Buddha. The teachings emphasize the loss of individual pride and the importance of respect.

The monks strike miniature golden bells that provide a beat for the chanters. Men and women in robes pass out small books to keep the congregation together.

These Buddhists hope to arrive in pureland — the final stop for Buddhists. That’s the destination for those who attain enlightenment.

At the front of the room, several gold Buddhas look out on the worshipers. The chanting picks up speed as Honorable Yiheng Shih, the Abbott in red robes, walks through the rows of the congregation.

The chanting lasts for about an hour and a half, followed by meditation and instruction. All this brings them closer to the Buddha, who lived over 2000 years ago.

7 a.m. — Rush Hour On The No. 7 Train

The guy hanging-on to the opposite side of the pole had garlic last night–and forgot to brush his teeth this morning.

It’s been a long morning. Waiting for the Manhattanbound No. 7 train at the Main Street station, daylight foreshadows eight hours of ringing telephones, too many appointments and too many things to do.

Squeezing onto the people-bloated subway car, we have to laugh. Did the guy at the end of the car really think he would be able to read the sports pages? And that woman with the package the size of a canoe – is she kidding, or what?

As the train lovingly referred to by old timers as the "Toonerville Trolley" snakes into the Queens Plaza station, everyone in the car tenses, readying for action. Some head to the door. Some aim for an about-to-be vacated seat. Others hold on to their places for dear life.

The doors open, the crowd empties out – and another crowed surges in.

As the doors slam shut and the inaudible voice of a conductor shouts out the next stop, a young man leans against the car door devouring an egg-and-cheese sandwich. A raggedy man pushes a tattered paper cup into the faces of the weary straphangers, promising their eternal happiness in return for a coin or two.

As the "trolley" grunts into our station and we exit the chaos headed to the street below, we pause to wonder at the marvel of the Flushing line.

How could something that is perpetually in the midst of being improved, be so consistently bad?

8 a.m. — Stuck In Traffic

It’s called an expressway, but at 8 a.m. the Van Wyck crawls. Navigating the 3.1 mile stretch of road from Kennedy Airport to the Grand Central Parkway is hell. But there’s plenty of time to see the sights.

An electrical power plant, a construction vehicle storage site, an auto-auction, train-trestles, a hospital and homes border the road.

New Yorkers have apparently adapted to their commute. Among the flatbeds, limousines, school buses, big rigs, cube-trucks, vans, yellow cabs, and ambulances utilizing the Van Wyck corridor, there are other oddities. Motorists, when not cutting from lane-to-lane, can be seen eating breakfast and reading newspapers behind the wheel.

The only sign of road-rage comes from a SUV with North Carolina plates. The horn blasts, because the car ahead of her was slow off the brake.

With traffic averaging eight miles an hour, drivers avoid traffic by driving under overpasses on the road’s shoulder. Many also try their luck on the service roads.

Without accidents, the Van Wyck is a taillight glaring, brake-pad wearing experience. If Airtrain construction begins on this road, ride a bike.

9 a.m. — Borough Hall

The smell of coffee wafts through the air of the full meeting rooms of the borough’s seat of government.

The clack of typewriter keys hitting paper accompanies the dull ring of telephones in the hall outside the Public Affairs office.

The scenes from various Queens schools and neighborhoods line the walls next to Kosovo Relief Campaign Posters.

On the ground floor, a mini-Unisphere sits behind the security desk of the main entrance. Some people come through looking for the courthouse, which is next door. They are jurors asking where to report for duty. Couples getting hitched come in for their marriage licenses.

They too have to go next door to the courthouse.

Borough Hall also serves as a classroom. There are learning centers where people come to learn about starting their own businesses, how to use computers, and other fine trades.

Outside, flowering trees are in bloom next to a small garden near the entrance.

10 a.m. — The NYC Department of Finance-Parking Violations Court

In Jamaica, this place is always bustling.

"I will reduce your fine by $60 based on the photographs you brought in to support your case," says an administrative judge to a nervous recipient of a parking ticket.

Others are not so lucky. "I hate that judge. He had it in for me from the moment I walked into his office," says a man whose parking ticket was not dismissed.

Anyone receiving a parking summons can contest their case here. Take a number and wait for the television screen to flash your number.

Average wait: 20 minutes, if it’s not too crowded. In the meantime there are plenty of news segments on New York 1 to watch.

Many of the men in the waiting area are livery or cab drivers. They compare notes on the tickets they believe to be erroneous. In the end, about half of them will be dismissed or reduced.

11 a.m. — Pomonok Senior Center

Once a month, seniors from Pomonok head for the highway. This week they are going to the Broadway Westchester Theater to see Camelot. If it’s not a play, it’s Atlantic City, where they sometimes win big. But today the 120 seniors are in Queens, just off Kissena Boulevard, where they spend much of their time during the week.

"It’s really hard to keep up with the seniors," says the director of the center, which is run by New York’s Department for the Aging.

Everyday during the week, Tillie Braunstein, Florence DeGaglia and Bella Castro make their way to Pomonok. Castro says the center is an important part of her life. "This is my home away from home. I keep myself young here. We really do have fun."

After lunch it’s time for a movie. It could also be dancing, aerobics, cards, pool, or a board game.

Braunstein, DeGaglia and Castro had not met before coming to the center, but became fast friends. They talk about current events, their kids, and joke around with each other incessantly.

Tillie lightly jabs Florence and says laughing, "We’re really just acquaintances. I don’t know if you would call us friends."

They are the best of friends; even when the center closes at 4 p.m. they go chat on a bench while soaking in the sun.

12 p.m. — Shea Stadium

Queens’ own Shea Stadium is home to our favorite team–the Amazin Mets.

Smoke billows from the portable barbecues scattered among cars belonging to the faithful in the Shea Stadium parking lot.

Suddenly, it seems as though everyone is wearing a Mets team shirt – waiting for the doors of the stadium to open.

Fans wait at the player entrance, hoping to get a glimpse of and maybe an autograph from their favorite jock. A steady stream of fans snakes from the No. 7 train, nearby highways and neighborhoods into Shea, where baseball legends have been born and dreams have come true for those who believed in miracles.

These are no ordinary fans and this is no ordinary baseball team. These fans have come through years of turmoil and losing streaks, staunchly backing the Queens Boys of Summer in their quest to reclaim the title.

And while they wait for the first crack of the bat, these fans celebrate the spirit of their team, while standing in long pre-game lines to purchase tickets to the coveted play-by-play.

In the end, two words make the waiting worthwhile. As the pre-game anxiety and anticipation fade into a blur of pinstripes on the field, the ump shouts "Play Ball!"

1 p.m. — Lemon Ice King of Corona

This time of day — the lunch rush — just wouldn’t be the same for many Corona and otherwise Queens residents without a break for some frozen refreshment.

Looking into the Lemon Ice King of Corona, you can spot a large sign that reads "we do not mix ices." Also prominently displayed are warm pretzels and Lemon Ice King apparel, including shirts of all sizes.

After what seems like every customer, the counter is cleared. The Lemon Ice King makes it a policy not to give napkins–which can make a ‘king’-sized mess for customers, but keeps the sidewalk outside the King nice and clean.

An exhausted man gets his sugar fix from a lemon ice as a portly man scrounges for change. His beard is soon covered with sweet. A nicely dressed man pulls up in a white stretch limo and heads back satisfied with blue ices. He can later be seen driving around the corner, one hand on the steering wheel, the other stuffing his face.

There is always heavy traffic by the King. A man nearly loses his life in a mad dash back to his car, but his cherry ice remains carefully balanced.

2 p.m. — Flushing Library

Believe it or not, the Flushing Library is now an afternoon hot spot.

The flashy new Flushing Library looks out of place with the rest of Main Street’s old 50s-style tenements. Famous quotes are ingrained into the marble stairs and most of the building appears to be made of glass. The rows of chairs and tables are packed mostly with hard-working Asian students just out of school. Over at the Internet stations, kids play online action games — a few drawing rings of onloookers. And even the adult learning center on the lower level draws a good crowd.

"We get an average of 250 people per day in the learning center," says Marcy Rosenfield, who works down in the basement.

Outside on the steps is a big loitering spot for troublemakers who smoke and make life difficult for the librarians. They speak in every language. Most of the third floor houses the foreign language book section, where people thumb through Spanish, Chinese, Russian, Korean, and Japanese literature. Below, in the periodicals section, newspaper-reading professional types make sure to neatly fold each and every page — the old fashioned way.

3 p.m. — Queens Center Mall

Even in Queens, the mall is a major teen hangout.

The Queens Center Mall after school is a popular spot for shoppers and students. With four floors and plenty of stores, a lot can go on in an hour.

Between 3 and 4 p.m., the mall is a haven for teenagers getting out of school. On the top floor, the sitting benches are filled with students relaxing after a hard day of school. "I always come here after school, every day. I come here for clothes and stuff like that," says one teen.

At Figure It Out, a stand on the top floor, a man purchases peculiar items such as temporary tattoos and edible underwear.

The mall has a very laid-back atmosphere, and the relaxed demeanor of the guards seems to reflect that. "I like working here — I’ve been working here for four years. It’s pretty quiet," a guard tells a young woman.

The food court is crowded as usual, with McDonalds and Sbarros being the most popular. Friends argue on which meal they should enjoy, while scampering to find seats. Outside the court, a woman is handing out free samples of "Sarku Japan" Teriyaki chicken on a stick.

At the newstand, teenagers flip through music magazines, arguing over which one to purchase. They subsequently end up reading a couple and buying none.

At Foot Locker, a youngster unsuccessfully tries to convince his mother to invest in expensive new Nikes.

At Sam Goody, recently re-opened on the bottom floor, there is a line forming at the listening booths, where people check out samples of new music.

On the bottom floor, at Kay-Bee, Winnie the Pooh umbrellas are all the rage. A father directs his son to the wrestling action figures, while he carefully examines reissues of classic G.I. Joes.

4 p.m. — The Y

The Y is the place to be after school.

Outside the Central Queens Y, harried moms scurry through the rain from the entrance of the Y to their double- parked cars.

The unlucky kids get stuck waiting in the lobby. Some haven’t quite mastered the art of putting on the raincoat, and one seems to think it should be on backwards.

5 p.m. — Queens Tribune,
Fresh Meadows

"I’m sorry, we are on deadline," one reporter says, trying to escape from what promises to be a lengthy conversation. "We would be happy to talk about your life as a dog on Thursday or Friday."

The reporter puts down the phone and returns to her keyboard. There is paper everywhere – and most of it is stained with coffee.

Newspapers, faxes, laser printouts, and press releases cover every last inch of desk space, as bleary-eyed reporters furiously bang out story after story while trying to get last-minute comments from the likes of Borough President Claire Shulman or Eddie the dry cleaner.

"But does she or doesn’t she," they cry into the phone. "Dan, we need an answer now."

The editor, hovering around in a deadline-induced panic, asks for perpetual status reports. "Where is the feature, I needed it six minutes ago," he grumbles to himself.

"Stop the presses," someone shouts from across the room.

"What, is Godzilla stomping across Queens Boulevard?" the Publisher asks.

"No," they reply. "The pizza guy’s here."