Friday, December 01, 2006
We waited out the rain under Lever House surrounded by great art and one really bad trumpet player. It was the kind of summer downpour that proves New York tropical – sudden and violent and overwhelming in the power of both water and electricity – but it slowed the city only slightly, and the reflections multiplied the passions.
We started to walk again, south towards St. Bart's, and she said, "We're getting soaked." I looked down, an umbrella lay abandoned on the sidewalk. "This looks like what we need," I told her. And now she thought both I and the city were magic.
copyright 2006 by Ira Socol - Photographs: Lever House, August 2006 and Lever House Rain Dance copyright 2006 by Ira Socol