Ghost Limb

So it must have been 1990 when my asshole roommate, 22 years later, my best friend, and I were trecking around our newly adopted city during one of those lovely snow/sleet/rain days.  Dinkins was the mayor, the trains were still painted, the streets filthy and completely unsafe for anyone in their late teens and we loved it.  Every turn of a corner held new promise.  An incredible urban vista or total decay and wreckage.  We were fascinated with both.  Times Square feels like a ghost limb at this point.  Hell, even the New York Times is no longer there and Smith’s Bar is a tourist destination.

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