In the movies, New York City is always under attack. Chaos, everywhere. Police desperate, frantically making calls, waiting for a superhero to intervene. The streets are crazy. People fearful, cowering, running. Tables flipped, cars flipped. Crashing, explosions. Everything is loud. Everything is happening all at once. “Apocalyptic” is a familiar look for this city. Images of smoke and destruction one that hits a little too close to home, a little too close to reality.
The last time this city shut down, the last time this city fell silent, was after a loud and sudden attack. A force of destruction nearly two decades ago.
Little did we know, this city of resilience, one that managed to get up after its darkest hour, would once again fall silent, not knowing when it’ll come back to life. Somehow, the chaos is more comforting. Somehow the apocalyptic scenes feel more suited. The false scenes of tranquility are eerie. A city, once so full of life, of movement, suddenly still.
New York, how are you holding up? You don’t look like yourself these days. A little to clean. A little too peaceful. Uncertainty brewing. Silence filled with exhausted anticipation. Quietly stir crazy.
West Village basking in the glow of warm sun. A golden ghost town.
A street usually full of tourists, suddenly silent.
No need to wait for people to step out of your shot these days. Oh how I miss strangers photobombing… life.
The end of the world is oddly so graceful. So beautifully poised. So photogenic. But as pretty as it is, New York isn’t New York without New Yorkers. And I’d trade empty streets for slow walkers and crowd shovers any day.