I was walking north on Amsterdam Avenue a few weeks ago with my coworker, Ken, on a Friday afternoon after work. It was a little bit awkward, not quite knowing what to say to each other, and not being entirely comfortable in the not knowing, but it was lovely too, and we are both clearly fond of walking around this crazy city, looking at things, keeping an eye on things, holding and replenishing in our heads a picture of this place we so love. I pointed out to him my favorite sign in the whole world, and he admired it accordingly, and teased me about the fish, and etcetera, and etcetera. And then a week later we were again walking up Amsterdam towards 125th street, and suddenly Ken stopped, gawking, and I couldn't figure out what he was doing until I looked up and across the street. And my heart sank. My beloved sign had vanished, covered over in cheap siding, gone in a flash, modernized, and oh so horribly.
I am eternally grateful that Nathan convinced me to buy my beloved digital camera those months ago, and so very glad that I've been able to take pictures, however badly, of the world around me, keeping a back-up of sorts for this swiss cheese memory of mine. And I am grateful that I have people like Ken to observe this world of ours with me, and keep an eye on the comings and goings of the history so deeply imbedded in the very bricks at the root of this city; grateful that there are people in my life I can turn to and say, "That was there. I know it was. I know you saw it, too."
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