Sifting through old photos, ran across when NYC surprised me. I pictured concrete and glass, angry people. Instead I found the old growth forest underneath, abandoned mansions swallowed by vines and headstones washed clean by time. Neighborhood was quiet, lined with trees, chipmunks in the backyard. I often pictured Poe listening to the sound of wolves out of his window. Art littered the walls more than trash on the ground, and cheerful bodega owners helped me find black market goods.