1,046 Words. 4 Minute Read

I walked past DeNiro’s Tribeca Grill and started to take in the peculiarities of the pre-Civil War buildings. I strolled up and down wide cobblestone streets flanked by ancient loading docks and warehouses with faded block letters from the companies that once occupied them. Despite the transformation of mercantile factories into galleries and the most expensive real estate in the city, there’s a comforting authenticity to it all, as if nothing will ever change, including rickety awnings and peeling paint on nineteenth-century handrails.

1,426 Words. 6 Minute Read.

I prefer taking the scenic route – always. It doesn’t matter if I’m in New Orleans, Carmel, or simply driving to the local library. You can bank on me finding every piece of interesting architecture and historical landmark and visiting them, to the exclusion of everything else. I can’t help it. I truly can’t. There’s a skipper in my brain whose call sign is Captain Disaster. He’s an excursionist who despises maps, itineraries, and clocks. He has full control of my faculties and operates with a broken compass.

718 Words. 3 Minute Read.

Wind darts through the West Village like two kids playing tag, here one second and gone the next. But its presence adds a layer of warmth to a crisp Manhattan evening.

Women are bundled up in wool jackets, smart-looking gloves, and scarves of varying lengths to keep their pale winter necks warm.

957 Words. 4 Minute Read.

At some point, I’d open up a book and read until the sun started setting, with a nap here and there. Around five o’clock, the mountain skies turned into a panoramic canvas of violet, peach tones, and swaths of butterscotch.