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Rufus Mangrove

I’m kind of glad I left New York City when I did. At least that’s what I tell myself.

When people ask me whether I miss New York City, I invariably say, “There’s less noise and fewer people.”

The metro is clean. I still don’t know how much a ride costs. I don’t have to walk everywhere I go if I don’t want to. I can get in my busted Prius with its faded magnets and bumper stickers and drive so I can buy some useless shit to put in my trunk.

No more pushing or pulling those busted wire carts down the sidewalk.

I still crave pizza and bagels. A good bagel shop is one that knows how to properly make pumpernickel.

They have this pizza called “New Haven Style.” I don’t know how to describe it really. It’s not thin, foldable, or oily. It’s not going to satisfy that part of the taste buds that are also reserved for fried chicken or donuts.

They put salad on the pizza.

No credibility.

There were always people in New York. There was always something, and you knew if you waited long enough, or traveled far enough, something was going to go down.

I can walk for an hour now and not really see anyone.

I think I’ve photographed the same tree about fifty times.

It could also be I’m just going old.

Bear with me as I figure some things out.




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