After the New Year, I had a few more days to kill in the city. I took my G10 everywhere and lazily shot the mood. It was cold and dark and wet and I lost my hat and gloves in the mix.
This is a self-portrait of me on the mini-bus to Flushing, Queens. My good friend Mark Gong, in addition to being a wonderful fashion photographer, is a connoisseur of authentic Chinese food. Flushing is home to New York’s real Chinatown where one can feast for a pittance. We devoured egg noodles in broth and duck sandwiches and Beijing style lamb kebabs. We munched on Chinese-style pickles and cold potato strings in vinegar. We ordered 15 dumplings and finished them all. It was so good, I could have cried- but my tears would have frozen on my face.
The free water taxi to Red Hook- nasty day, still beautiful. It lets off in front of IKEA, the big blue beacon of domesticity and lingonberries. We walked by it to go to a party and along the way saw a full-length mirror on the ground, shattered and still in its packaging.
The subway is cheaper, but walking from the west side over to the 6 train on the east side is an exercise in masochism on a 19 degree night with a windchill that’ll freeze water inside of a minute. We took a cab and rode up the West Side Highway. This is what we saw out the window- apartments beyond the highway barrier that keeps cars from careening off the edge. I thought I’d outgrown squiggly long exposures, but I’ll be damned if this one didn’t make me stop for a second when I pulled it off the camera a week later. This is exactly what the West Side Highway looks like when you’re buzzed on beer, whiskey and a pickle juice back and you’re taking the last late-night cab ride with the only other person in the world besides the driver.