Another New York

[...]
The snow was coming down heavier. Harry removed the bread rolls from the plastic bag he was holding and began to happily feed the ducks. His black coat had turned white, the only colour present radiating from his red cheeks. He looked at me, smiling, and said, `Harry feed the ducks'. Behind him, 59th St and the rest of Manhattan had disappeared.

I never found the New York I was searching for, but as an eerie silence fell over Central Park that day, another New York found me.


(On the Road)