Some days I get a slight tingle in my gut and a twist in my heart and I start missing New York City. Some nights I have dreams that I still live there in my tiny, shoebox West Village apartment, and I wake up feeling confused and sad. Where are the taxis blowing their horns, the rumble of the subway under the streets, the cool breeze drifting off the Hudson River? The quiet of the museums and the serenity of Central Park? I miss those things some days. That's when I break out old photos and reminisce.
I found these photos in an old email from my dad, known as photo pops here. I used to work down the street from Bryant Park. In the summers I'd take my lunch and sit out at one of the tables - if I was lucky to find an empty table - and I'd read a book or write my book on the huge, 50 pound laptop that I used to lug to work every day. I never could get over the reflection coming off the glass building across the street from the park on 42nd Street. I mentioned it once to my dad who was visiting and he took a picture. Instantly it became a favorite.