Category: New York City
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Kodak Moment
My son, Brian, just turned 28 on July 14. He is a part of the last generation of people (in America, I suspect) who had their childhood photos of them taken with film. I have boxes stacked in my closet of envelopes containing hundreds if not thousands of pictures of him, my daughter, my family,…
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Is This Really Happening?
It’s 5:01 pm on July 23. Thirty-two days ago was the summer solstice. It’s 64.9 F. I’m standing on the back deck of our house at Rainbow Lake. I’m chilled. I have a thin blanket over my shoulders like a cheap superhero. It’s one of those free “blanket” covers they give you on long distance…
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After The Party
I wasn’t that hungry to begin with. Blame it on the oppressive heat and humidity in the city that evening. Blame it on the seven block walk to our favorite Ramen place on 28th Street. Or, best of all, blame it on the viral bronchial whatever I pick up in late June. I just didn’t…
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Bryant Park On A July Afternoon
I remember a time, back in the 1970’s and ’80’s when Bryant Park was a certain kind of place for a certain kind of person. I was not one of those people. There was a public restroom…a small stone building on 42nd Street. If you entered to use the urinal, in the day, in the…
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My Dreams Are Made Of Iron And Steel
I don’t dream the way I did in past years. I miss that because those nighttime adventures were something to behold. The visions of H. P. Lovecraft, Bram Stoker and Steven Spielberg were mere cartoons when compared to the places I would go in the hours beyond midnight…when REM sleep was most active. Very rarely…
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The Preference For Fog On The Downtown Bus
The M1 bus stop where I was standing was on 5th Avenue and 98th Street. It’s across the avenue from Mount Sinai Hospital. It wasn’t raining…it was a downpour. My flimsy $5.99 umbrella protected my head and shoulders but little else. The front half of each shoe was soaked. My outside flap of the shoulder…
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Arriving, Departing or Just Passing Through
I stood hard against the tiled wall and made room for the rush of human traffic trying to pass me. I was thinking about insanity and the blindness of powerful people to hold sacred something that once had beauty and class. Beauty and class are rare commodities these days. I was in the bowels of…
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Postcard From Condado Beach
There are times in life when a person has a particular need. Nothing else is enough. Only that one singular need. If I were lost, ten miles from Badwater, in the center of Death Valley, that need would be water. For me, in the bleak months of Winter ’15, that need is simply warmth. Warmth.…
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Between Patience and Fortitude
Despite what my weather app informed me about this afternoon–that the temperature was heading toward the low 40’s, I’m still having the feeling that my wool jacket (more of a pea coat) is merely for show. The cold wind slices through me like a Triscut dips through Roasted Red Pepper and Garlic Hummus. I’m chilled…
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Going Down The River On A Winter Day
Aboard the Amtrak, Train #238. Bound for Penn Station, NYC I can’t sleep in this cramped seat. It’s 4A, the window with a view of the Hudson River. But there is no view. It’s white enough for sunglasses. I see West Point across the water, barely. I snap a photo with my iPad mini. It…
patrickjegan 