Back to Where I Belong

Every now and then, I escape back to the city where I belong.

Instead of being the train home to Brooklyn, now it’s the train to the city.
The number of drunks and bums Father Frank’s homeless shelter attracts to the area seems to have steadily risen over time. Now they’re passed out all over the train station day and night.

I prefer this city greeting to the drunks sprawled out on the platform in Port Jeff

Hello ESB, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.

The city is full of ghosts

The Endless March of the Yellow Cabs

It is now safe to walk uphill.