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I tell stories
100 words, or sometimes more

Conversations in New York

I stand at the corner of Park Avenue and 72nd, and listen.

I read once that thought is just a by-product of arranging information, and as I look at all the people swapping stories and making deals I have to wonder, just what the hell else are we doing here?

“…I’m an accountant, not a Mafioso…”

“…I had to do it…”

What is this? Definition. Justification. I am here and I have a right to exist.

Maybe that’s the secret of this place.

We are flickers and sparks. Nerves and impulses. Arrangers of information. And the city is waking up.

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