Every day in Manhattan was a dream and a nightmare.

I spent so long dreaming of living in Manhattan, that being there was surreal. The nightmare was finding money to survive a place of definite haves and have nots. Everything I'd seen in pictures and the movies was right in front of my face. More marvelous and majestic in real life.

We lived off Avenue of the Americas, the pulmonary vein of the city. “West SoHo” my gay roommates liked to dress it up. Right between Prince and King St. above an Asian restaurant with red paint and a green door. To the east - SoHo’s finest shopping, to the south TriBeCa, and to the north, everything. (Union Square, Chelsea, Broadway, 42nd St, Central Park). We were right in the mix.

I spent hours walking and discovering new things. Most of the time, I'd look up and marvel at the architecture. Feeling the energy of thousands of immigrants that rushed these streets before me, and their will to seize the American dream.

The people were so fascinating.

The creations (business and art) are amazing. I love finding cute cafes and bookstores, and this happened to be both.

Every thing is a photo opportunity.

I used to find these little chalk hearts everywhere and I loved taking photos of them.

I loved riding the subway. It was like a whole other world down there. In all it's grit and grime, there was always light at the end of the tunnel. The entertainment was amazing!! For $30 a week, unlimited rides and free entertainment... That's a good city!

Being underground so long, I'd forget where I was. I'd walk out, look up and see the World Trade Center and think Wow...

Every day in New York was a dream, but maintaining that dream was a challenge. I was broke. I needed space. I needed more $ and more opportunities. I was struggling to eat decent and survive. Let alone focus on my art.

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