The view of the Empire State building from the "Top of The Rock" (Rockefeller Center)
The crisp winter air touches your face like a soft brush of a hand, as you stand and enjoy being in the moment on that high pinnacle atop the bustling city. Below you an army of little black ants scurry about with parcels in hand. A serene oasis of green emerges from between the concrete and neon lights. It seems an odd place for a piece of heaven, but needed none the less. Gazing across the tips of towering rooftops, from afar you can see Liberty standing strong in the center of her solitude. The horizon disappears as the sun sets and the retired sunlight is replaced with the buzz of the neon signs, piercing headlights and the hum of night life. The city comes alive.
The smell of coffee and sour milk rises from the street gutters as you shuffle shoulder to shoulder with the other out of towner’s and locals alike. Slipping off the curb into a murky puddle, my leather shoe suddenly fills with a watery sludge. Stopping at a street vendor to ask for a few napkins, I quickly clean up and continue on my way, making sure not to get trampled as I merge into the charging herd. It seems as though the locals are the driving force behind the busy bustle. They rush about like faceless cattle dressed in black coats and leather gloves, from one destination to the next as if it were a race. There are those of us who hop, skip and jump through the streets, clicking pictures and taking it all in. We are different a breed mingling with the prodding of the everyday New York rush.
