On a Tuesday
at 4:37 A.M…
Tag Archives: Urban
Walking Home from a New Jersey Diner
The sights and sounds of a tow truck are among those few things in life that evoke almost the same feelings in almost everyone in almost every situation. The somber whirring of the cables, the sharp clang of the hooks and chains, and the slow lurch of the vehicle onto the flatbed are each slightlyContinue reading “Walking Home from a New Jersey Diner”
Melting Pot on Nostrand
Before our client starts construction in the vacant lot (foreground), I need to photo-document the conditions of the outside of the neighboring building and the interior walls of all the apartments bordering the site. I have been granted access to 16 apartments this morning and am waiting on five more after 3:00pm. Although the floorplanContinue reading “Melting Pot on Nostrand”
Juxtaposition on 37th
I noticed this scene when I was stopped at a light crossing Manhattan. The longer I watched it unfold, the more I wondered if I was watching a prank or a living art exhibit…
The Unheralded Life Arc of a Scrap of Iron Ore
Behold! The unheralded life arc of a scrap of iron ore. No pomp, no circumstance. Handled by a hundred human hands, regarded by none.
Another Man’s List
Another man’s list: impressed by wet boots into the pavement of a parking deck on a Tuesday. The author, by now, unseen and unknown, shuffled off the coil. His orders since discarded in the marching– a fleeting, transient monument to his duty. . The words are simple, cryptic, and pragmatic. They describe a morning errand,Continue reading “Another Man’s List”
Out In the Harbor
There, out in the harbor, with her back to the madding, stands the old noble Lady with her torch and her crown. Just the sight of her back, and her book, and her beacon still thrills me the most on my way into town. . She stands on her island, stands for Hope and forContinue reading “Out In the Harbor”
Broome Street
The streetlight aspires to a small role on Broadway,And the traffic cop fancies that he was born king.The pigeons peck pennies and wish at the fountain,To trade their anxieties for songs they can sing.The taxi cab wishes that he was a tugboat,The dockbuilder whistles and dreams he’s a bird.While only the poet—and just for oneContinue reading “Broome Street”