Visiting a continent neither Florence or my father had ever gone to, there, in a small square built from stones older than the Bible, barely noticeable on the map but huge as we stood looking around it, were hundreds of people and a live brass band.
The minutes they started playing this traditional music everyone, young, old, middle-aged, grabbed hands to make a dozen circles and began dancing in ancient steps the love they felt for their city.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.