To put off the inevitable, we try to fix the city in place, remember it as it was, doing to the city what we would never allow to be done to ourselves. . . . New York City does not hold our former selves against us. Perhaps we can extend the same courtesy.
New York City does not hold our former selves against us. Perhaps we can extend the same courtesy.
New York City in life was much like New York City in death. It was still hard to get a cab, for example.
What does the perfect elevator look like, the one that will deliver us from the cities we suffer now, these stunted shacks? We don't know because we can't see inside it, it's something we cannot imagine, like the shape of angels' teeth. It's a black box.
The city knows you better than any living person because it has seen you when you are alone,