But as I mourned my daily subway roulette, the orange light of mid-morning bounced off the surface of the Hudson River, glowing that much brighter through the train’s scratch-graffitied windows. You can be hard-hearted, but you’re easy on the eyes. And even when I’m sure you can’t return the sentiment, I love you, New York.
This is a valentine for the pairs of white-haired men in Washington Square Park, sliding chess pieces across a board with aplomb, conning novice players out of their cash, drinking from an endless tap of new opponents.
A valentine for the shuttered Sunshine Cinema, the Hudson Diner, and Manny’s Music: the ones that got away.
One for the things that will take their place: nothing is left vacant, here.
This is a valentine for the woman selling $2 arepas from a cart on 182nd Street, satiating the young, stumbly revelers spilling out of Inwood bars, and for all of the hot dog, pretzel, and halal vendors out there. For Joe’s Pizza: I will abide an ATM fee for you and you only.