


Or, as the song says, “autumn in New York.”


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Or, as the song says, “autumn in New York.”














The old townhouse looks like the new skyrise is spouting from its roof. Its stone-fronted neighbor stoically looks on.

There’s no way of telling what The Wren looked like prior to its conversion into a dwelling of distinction. I want to guess it had been a garage.
Every block is a study in contrasts. Old and new, transformed and reformed.









































































So much orange? I love orange! I love that it’s colorful. I guess it’s the creepy, both fake and real, to which I object.

























