There’s nothing like summer in New York. It’s like Paris, where people leave the city in summertime and the streets are languid and slow. On one avenue, the streets are closed to cars, from Harlem to Lower Manhattan.
As I walk down these lazy sidewalks, sidewalks I’ve been down so many times before, I realize that I’ve become part of the biology of this city, something coursing through its blood, in its arteries. New York’s pulse is strong, but in the summer that beat slows down.






