They used to walk in Washington Square Park. Watched tourists take pictures and art students pose. Saw the changing of seasons fall upon concrete. Indian vendors selling samosas. Lines for bathrooms on Saturday afternoons. Fall never tasted so good.
The pair galloped down streets in the Village. Strolling past coffee shops, restaurants, bookstores, record shops, Greek diners, the two took it all in. Smells from down the alleys. Dogs walking their masters.
And Chelsea with the sun bouncing off brownstones. The YMCA down the street where Albee used to hang out. Chinese markets where Ginsberg picked his fruit. Cabs being replaced by Uber drivers. Busses run throughout the night.
Dear old Manhattan, they pondered. True old friend. Don’t ever leave us, they whispered. Don’t.
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