Gavin came over from Glasgow many years ago and started working in New York. The bar seemed fairly quiet when I first got there, though it picked up later in the evening. “Always slow on the Jewish holidays,” he commented. “I don’t get it.”
Even at 9:20 AM on a Saturday Times Square was packed.
New York lends itself to good photography – a lot of natural vertical lines, framing empty space or distant landmarks. Even a hack like me can’t screw it up too bad.
The remains of my wheat pancakes from Little Owl Cafe. “You should have taken a picture before you ate them,” Alexandra helpfully suggested.
The calliope at Dachshund Day in Washington Square. I took no pictures of dachshunds, sadly. Dachshunds in sailor suits, dachshunds dressed as pirates, dachshunds in angels wings. All unphotographed.
A pair of manic street preachers in Union Square. One would scream prayers at us in English; the other would translate in Spanish.
The view from Central Park West.
Christine outside Apple’s glass brick.
And yours truly.