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.
I think I was only in the city twice in December.
Viza and I took a short stroll through Amtrak’s part of Penn Station.
I found some more subway mosaics to add to my collection.
Manhunt, West Village.
June 2.
Walking through Chinatown.
Lin Ze Xu.
Confucius.
In Chinatown, even the Golden Arches are labeled in Chinese.
Slipping out of Chinatown into Little Italy,
I wandered past two of these. Scary.
What is this, a drunken pixie?
Walking to Washington Square Park,
I took an obligatory photo of the arch.
I notice it says The World War.
The fountain at Washington Sq. Park.
The Empire State Building, lit up.
And finally, back down to Penn Station to catch a train home.