I was up in NYC for a few days in September and was reminded wholly and dearly of just how much I miss the city. I left knowing that someday I’d sure like to rent an apartment for a couple of months and genuinely reconnect–especially with the friends I miss and didn’t have a moment to see.
I was in the city to do some research for a new project I’m starting in a few weeks: a book, a first novel, and yeah, what-the-hell-am-I-thinking, but more on that to come another time.
I marked a lot of changes since my years there (1985-96). The falafels at Mamoud’s on St. Mark’s Place taste exactly as I remember them, but the e-cig store on the corner sure looked out of place. And my old apartment building at 323 West 47th hasn’t changed at all, but a few blocks away, Broadway looks more like the Las Vegas strip than the city I remember.
That’s just messed up.
Change must be darned hard on that compact island. Every inch of real estate matters. But here’s something that hasn’t changed:
I don’t suppose I’m quite the same person I was 25 years ago either. I’ve been told that I became a whole lot nicer when I left the city.
I took a few hundred photos in four days as a way of collecting a lot of sense memory on which I can call when I start this… novel-thing. Here are my top 10 faves: