La Grande Pomme

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It never fails to tickle the toes or wiggle away the woes, hippity-hoppin-photographin from Brooklyn to the Bronx, fellows of the boroughs with cornrows and afros, the winos and maestros, limos and ghettos. From the glitter and gold to the litter and mold, bankrolled businessmen to the homeless of the cold. Welcome windows to all that we’ve become, to the tribes which we subscribe, the flags we fly, the brands we buy – priest, monk or rabbi?

oh New York, you patchwork ace of spades! You sublimely schizophrenic showpiece extraordinaire! What long-dead men built your towers, worked your sewers, laid your tracks? From Ellis Island to Oppenheimer’s bomb, what histories have you spun and undone? Who hasn’t fallen in love with your trance, your steel and grit romance? Which city isn’t jealous of your zeal, your hyper-real, your gleam and glint ideal? Your manmade parade, your make or break charade, your bejeweled crusade – housemaid of the American Dream. Who have you privileged, and what of those pillaged, mortgaged and bandaged? Oh the Big (crab)Apple! How you bewilder and bemuse, deliver and confuse! Keep oN dAncing in your blue-suede shoes!

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