Archive
06/24/11
Pulses and Rhythms
The only way to get intimate with the pulses and rhythms of the city Is by exploring, afoot, every sight and scent and sound of it, Which, for five hours, is what we do, After taxiing, from the Hilton, to Bank Street, For a Friday-morning meeting with a rare-book dealer I've engaged, To sell some manuscripts from my collection — A necessary chore in our otherwise unfettered agenda.
Soon, we're breathing the West Village's ivy-and-brick charm, All of it in the English mode of two, three centuries ago (Christopher, Bedford, Bleecker, Sheridan, Waverly Place), Until we reach Houston, follow it south, to Mulberry, Where we taste of Little Italy's authentic ristorante cuisine, Before moving on, marveling at Mott's twin cultures — One side hawking gelati, the other jade jewelry, fresh fish, vegetables.
By two, the warm sky, which has been filling with slate clouds, Runs out of patience. We duck under an awning, on Canal Street, Content to make our cup of gelato outlast the thunderstorm, Not caring whether the rain lets up or not. Indeed, what could be a sweeter end to this Manhattan afternoon... Lest it be a taxi ride back to room 2248, Just in time for the city's pulses and rhythms to get intimate with us?
06/24/11
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