You really do have to imagine grimacing runners racing past, impatient drivers blaring horns a few feet away, the never-ending drone of Commerce coming from nearby buildings, cyclists managing to talk on their phones as they steer around strollers, and other ephemera of The City That Never Sleeps.
I was planning to do a Travel Series ever since I visited Burano island, the birthplace of Baldassare Galuppi, father of the musical genre opera buffa, uhm, well, one and a half years ago. 815 more words
Walking a section of the High Line last night, on an evening straight out of central casting. The sense that autumn, long since booked for its annual three-month stay in Manhattan, is now en route and crossing some border north of the city. 1,023 more words