Just outside the Met is a place that is not so much like the rest of New York. It’s more like the places outside the Prado and the Louvre and the British Museum. Crowded streets, slanting sunlight, taxis and tourists. Grand buildings and wealth and power.
Who is a native here? Who are the people who have sat on the walls for years and years? Who kissed in the park nearby, fumbled with buttons and snaps? Who drank and dodged and watched the clouds? Who come back sometimes and remember.
My friend Elliott, who wrote the music for this, was one of them too.