It was all I feared. Coming to the surface from the bowls of Penn Station onto what I always imagined New York City to be -
gridlocked traffic, horns and all those rushing people - rude people, poor people, greedy, ethnic, dirty people and all of it moving thru dark concrete canyons like flotsam in a flood.
I have hated the thought of it, of them, all my life. Can some place have all those reviled traits, but in a good way?
Can I overcome decades of
dread and take a bite out of this apple?
Jean has wistfully made that challenge every time we have flown past the
tall skyline, waterways and bridges, flying thru LGA, JFK or EWR - going
somewhere else. “Stanford is
playing at Army and what-do-you-know ... then the Giants play the Mets and then
the Yankees. Do you want to
go?”
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| Front Door (Open sign) |
“Sure, why not.” That was all it took and next thing I
know Jean has us in a tiny walkup bootleg studio behind a nail salon in
mid-town Manhattan - no windows and a steel door with lots of locks. Only perfect.
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| Room with a view |
Outside crazies pass out
flyers, pushcarts sell everything, famous landmarks pass with every block,
trains whisk us everywhere - and surprisingly friendly New Yorkers bask in the
weather we brought in from California.  |
| That Girl |
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| Bryant Park Lunchtime |
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| Flyer Flinger |
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