New York is essentially square with neck breakingly tall buildings and wide boulevards on which yellow cabs scurry like demented oversized beetles incessantly beeping their horns. It smells of discarded hotdogs and old diesel fumes. Just like the movies, the roads emit steam from oversized manhole covers so much so that they put red and wide chimneys on some to puther the steam over the heads of dour faced pedestrians.
Manoeuvring through the streets, we joined the tourist hordes, too easily identifying the highly groomed Italians and waif like French from the depressing unrefined Brits. With just a few short days, we crammed in as much as aching feet would allow. A shopping trip to the nearby iconic Macey’s mid sale was well worth a visit for a silk blouse, even allowing the green suited concierge who did NYC rude so well.