Down at Dana's, facing the bridge I grew up across the street from, the Empire State Building kept disappearing and reappearing as the smoke from the fire grew and the winds changed.
Florence had watched that bridge become an escape route not so long ago from other events that broke our city's heart. This time no one had to cross the bridge to safety.
Walking back to Second Avenue, most of the side streets closed to folks, it was the smell that was familiar. Been a while, but I recognized it immediately. More so when I stepped into the lobby where a haze had settled.
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.