Running through Manhattan from the Battery to the Bronx, Broadway is New York City’s lifeline. So in the wake of the coronavirus outbreak – and the raft of restrictive measures being implemented across the city and the state in an attempt to contain it – it seems like a good place to check the prevailing mood.

It doesn’t bode well when, on the 4 train down to Wall Street, a busker with a guitar performs a song featuring the words “coronavirus everywhere you turn”. Other than that, and the presence of a few face masks and latex gloves, everything appears relatively normal.

Above ground, it’s grey and mild. While it’s not heaving, New York is definitely not a ghost town. There are people milling around and tourists lining up as usual to take selfies with the Charging Bull, the bronze sculpture which sums up the spirit of nearby Wall Street.

The first person I encounter is Tim Lamch, 38, who with a huge bag on his back and pushing a fully loaded drinks trolley, makes a surreal sight. Is this coronavirus related?

“I just happen to be moving during coronavirus,” he says. “I’m only moving two blocks.”

The account executive, currently working from home because of the virus, says it’s busier than he had anticipated.

“People need to be out. People don’t want to be cooped up and people still have to work. Not everyone can work from home.”

At the bull, tourist Liliana Oropeza, 44, is lining up with her husband and 10-year-old son. The family, from Monterrey, Mexico, are trying to make the best of the situation but so far, she says, their holiday has been “awful”.

“We bought tickets and can’t use them because the museums are closed. We are trying to move our flight home to maybe Monday.”

Signs reading ‘Closed today’ outside the Met on 13 March. Photograph: William Volcov/REX/Shutterstock

On the streets, people are more polite than usual – apologising if they bump into each other, avoiding physical contact.

A steady trickle of people are coming out of the New York Stock Exchange, to go get their lunch. But as I make my way uptown, coronavirus’s impact on small businesses becomes clear.

At Thai Street Food, a food truck outside Trinity Church, co-owner Sony Ramirez, 35, from Queens, says business has dropped by 50% because many offices have closed. The truck’s one waiting customer chimes in: “Normally I see a line here. Today I’m the only one.”

Ramirez adds: “I’m worried because I have to work. I need to take care of many people.”

Further up, there’s a line of food trucks. It’s 12.30pm but none have more than one customer. Sayed Sadat, 52, who works at a bagel and lunch truck, is packing away after a deathly quiet morning. A huge bin of uneaten bagels stands next to the truck.

“I came at 4.30am and nobody [came] until 6am. Business is no good. No business at all.”

Disaster also looms for the souvenir sellers. On a corner near Fulton Street, where shoals of tourists usually pass on the way to the Brooklyn Bridge, Tiger Diop, wearing a feathered “happy new year” headband, sits, his merchandise unbought.

“I don’t know how I’m going to make a living,” he says. “Everybody’s suffering now.”

Face masks on display at a souvenir stall in Times Square on 13 March. Photograph: Andrew Kelly/Reuters

By city hall, a small group of climate protesters stand with a big “Fridays for Future” flag. The street is so quiet that birdsong is audible from the gardens.

As I reach the Tribeca neighbourhood, the sun comes out. It seems to bring more pedestrians. But John, 55, a souvenir seller dressed in a white surgical mask and a New York police department cap, says the street is considerably quieter than usual. He has started selling latex gloves and alcohol disinfectant but he says it’s hand sanitizer people want – a commodity impossible to track down. A nearby convenience store has a sign in the window: “Masks sold here.”

In Soho, Steff Bradley, 23, a graphic designer, and student Wilson Chiu, 25, are on their way to the bank. Bradley is wearing a mask. She says she felt short of breath this morning and is so anxious about coronavirus that she “had a panic attack over a runny nose”. As we speak, she reprimands Chiu, who says he is not concerned about the virus, for touching his face.

I veer off Broadway for Chinatown, where Kong Wah Bakery’s manager, Sam Chung, says business is down by 50% and staff are working half-days.

Near New York University, which recently moved all classes online, I speak to a group of computer science students who agree the area has “definitely got a different vibe”.

In Washington Square it becomes clear that just about everybody is talking about one thing: coronavirus. Disrupted travel arrangements, whether or not to go to a party, cleaning techniques, how much food they’ve got stocked up.

In Union Square, everything seems reassuringly normal – people are playing chess at tables, there’s music, the farmers’ market is on. But things take an apocalyptic turn when I spot a man in a full respirator mask and eye shield inspecting potatoes at a vegetable stand. The man, who doesn’t want to be named, says he is in his 70s and on medication and fears for his health.

“These are not normal times,” he says, in muffled tones.

At Madison Square Park it looks like everybody working from home has taken the opportunity to take their pet to the dog area and enjoy the sun. But the atmosphere is distinctly lacking in Friday buzz.

People walk through Times Square on 13 March. Photograph: Erik Pendzich/REX/Shutterstock

At Times Square I’m greeted by Elmo, Lady Liberty and Spiderman. Unusually, they don’t seem to be able to entice anybody near them. Finally, a man walking into Walgreens agrees, elbow bumping Lady Liberty as Elmo takes a photo, before ambling back in to do his shopping. A solitary man dances to the soundtrack of his AirPods.

On the steps, usually packed with tourists, there is plenty of breathing room. British tourists, Dan Hase, 33, and Claire Hase, 30, from Newcastle, are visiting New York for the first time. They are understandably disappointed. After arriving on Wednesday night, they went to see The Lion King only to find all Broadway performances had been cancelled and many of the attractions on the three-day pass they bought are closed.

“It was a bit of a letdown,” says Dan.

It is at West 44th street, where lots of theatres – including St James’s, currently home to the Frozen musical, and the Shubert, showing To Kill A Mockingbird – that I find the most haunting scene of the day.

The road is usually full of people queuing to get in, gathering during intervals, taxis dropping people off, red ropes for premieres. Now, it is almost completely empty.

A few people are in the box offices, optimistically booking tickets for brighter times. But on the street it’s so quiet that all I can hear is a plastic food container – New York tumbleweed – blowing down the street.