Wrapping up August was another trip to …
Pete wanted me to take his picture next to that tree. So here it is.
Pete knows this girl from his trips to the park without me. I don’t remember her name.
This poor kid was swallowed whole by a bubble. Nobody tried to save him, they all just watched him get devoured.
The re-becoming something is well underway
But not without a little street time first. (it’s a video)
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 Endless March of the Yellow Cabs
It is now safe to walk uphill.
(June 26) Viza and I went to a presentation at the Marriott Marquis, and then afterward to cleanse ourselves of Times Square, we walked over to the High Line. I like the park, but it seems to me the view is more interesting than the park itself. I’m not sure if that’s what they intended or not.
You can still (barely) see the tracks
In 2010, it’s hard to imagine locomotives several stories overhead
New Jersey. You don’t want to go there. Nobody does.
I wonder what it costs to live in those apartments
While we were there, I counted dozens of cars, mostly cabs, running the stop sign.
The ExhibitionistStandard Hotel is built above the High Line and offers parkgoers a free peep show.
Sunday. (May 30) Where else would I be?
We missed the turnoff for the Queensborough Bridge, and ended up going through the Midtown Tunnel after paying a delightfully outrageous toll.
“Apparently it’s all the same song.” – Pete