nyc portrait

nyc proved to be profound last week. it was graphic in its emotions.

the furious sky heaved heavily in a blackness so black that all of the city's flaws were alight. the electric silver breath of the steel landscape imposed its permanence on such a temperamental sky. the ablution of the heavens, nyc's purification was carried out with the same fervor of a meticulously dutiful aunt smothering a cowlick into place. the skies cried a cry that only a virgin knows. it was a cry of trepid joy marking the end of her innocence, an innocence she will later wish she could recapture with every misstepped heartbreak.

nyc summers cry out for a new love affair within the comfortable retreats of its old lover glints. you reintroduce yourself, reinvent yourself for the city as you have grown older in age with the confidence of a teenager in full abandonment, but with a maturity you cannot buy on the home shopping network.

new yorkers are officially born again with the launch of sunday brunches outdoors. the city is lusty in its everything, knowing the power of the jazz of nyc summers and the kinetic beat of possibilities: bryant park movies, the p.s.1 warm-up series, summer stage and the snap crackle and pop of me trying to keep up to the supersonic bikers in central park. they move air like a can of pringles potato chips being freshly opened. once you pop, you can't stop.