New York City always offers plenty of opportunities for exploration, particularly if you deviate from the norm. On my recent visit, I took in Chinatown, Little Italy, Chelsea, the Brooklyn waterfront, Riverdale up in the Bronx, and Queens. I did none of it justice in terms of in-depth coverage, but my adventure proved to be photo rich.

Times Square: Times Square is one of the NYC’s most visited attractions. Despite tax subsidies, office building zoning concessions, and civic efforts to clean it up, this triangle is still all flim-flam, with deviants roaming among the guileless virginal out-of-towners. While Seventies porn and cowboy hustle are gone, the glitzy video billboards that turn night into day expose many of the same low lifes who occupied the streets back then. Like reptiles, they still slither and shimmy through Duffy Square.

And yet I like to return to where I first experienced the city 50 years ago, even thought the Howard Johnson’s at 46h and Broadway met its demise in 2005 after a half-century run. All the glitz is instructive, however. It reflects our collective thought-dreams—pop culture at its best or worst, with that assessment left to each of us. This time Covid testing mingled with the signage. And a building-sized rotating video screen first displayed Tony Soprano’s origins in black, immediately followed by John and Yoko’s never-ending plea for peace in white, which is still unheeded. Will Julian or Sean carry on the tradition once Yoko is gone? And then there is Bitcoin, because we all want to be rich; followed by Ray-Ban sunglasses, because our future is so bright , we gotta wear shades, which brings us back to Covid.

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Post No Bills: Those LED signs in Times Square must use a lot of electricity. Given real estate prices, telling people to give peace a chance must cost a pretty penny. Many advertisers, however, don’t have the revenue that the Beatles catalogue produces, so they turn to plastering bills on the plywood lining construction sites throughout Manhattan’s five boroughs. While a slightly different medium, the message momentarily remains the same—you should be going to this movie, streaming this new album, or using the newest social media site to hookup. Advertisers tap into our base needs—the erotic, attention-grabbing circuses, and diabetes-inducing candy and sugared water.

I ran into a couple of paper hangers completing a job. They were camera shy, but I manage to strike up a conversation. The two guys in their mid-twenties were independent contractors, hanging bills for four or five different companies. They worked quickly because there are ordinances against this sort advertising. I said I’d rather see the colorful posters than the plywood. They responded by pointing out that the city differs: A construction company can be fined $5,000 if they leave the bills up, so this sort of advertising has a short shelf life (good for my two new acquaintances). During the course of our conversation, we agreed the new ad campaign for OKCupid.com was very clever—”Dating for Every Single Person.” I had seen it earlier on the Q Line, with card-like rectangular ads running along car’s upper interior slots.

Hell’s Kitchen. One morning, I cut through Times Square on my way to the Whitney, where Chicago-based photographer Dawoud Bey’s An American Project is currently on display—excellent, particularly the satellite exhibit on the ground floor. My journey took me through what was once Hell’s Kitchen in the true sense of the phrase: It was a rough and tumble neighborhood occupied by working class Irish Americans. As with all of Manhattan, today it bears all the signs of gentrification. I found several scenes that caught my eye.

Not a good day for photographing the High Line, but I did discover one scene that struck my visual fancy: Beer passing from the advertisement through pipes for those waiting to partake. I doubt the netting keeps any beer connoisseur out.

Chinatown, Little Italy, and Surrounds. I made three trips to Chinatown, Little Italy, and the surrounding neighborhoods. Unfortunately, the light was about as bad as it gets from a photographic standpoint, but I persevered.

Three decades ago, the Italians had reservations about the Chinese as they encroached on Italian territory north of the Canal Street divide. They no longer need be concerned. There are some Chinese markets on Mott Street, but for the most part, Little Italy has held its own. Chinatown, on the other hand, has definitely lost its neon luster, as well as a few of what were plentiful ducks hanging in the windows. Too many souvenir shops have replaced authentic Chinese eateries and shops.

Columbus Circle Protest: And what is NYC without a demonstration? The last one I photographed was anti-Trump—no surprise there, particularly with Reverend Al and Amy Schumer taking the speaker’s podium. Today it was the Palestinians and their cadre of sympathizers protesting Israeli and U.S. policy. The next day I stumbled into the very end of the anti-vax protest headed through Columbus Circle to Times Square.

Brooklyn Bound: Saturday afternoon I took a tour of Brooklyn, starting in Long Island City and ending at Brooklyn Estuary, an excellent restaurant overlooking Pier 5, which extends out from the Brooklyn Bridge Greenway. My guide was Marshall Stevenson, a knowledgable New Yorker who provided an overview as we wound our way through Fort Greene, Williamsburg, Dumbo, Clinton Heights, and Brooklyn Heights.

After dinner, I broke off from the group; they preferred an early evening. That’s when the photographic fun began. For those keeping score, all of athletes were captured at 12,000 ISO.

I didn’t travel far; just across the bicycle path toward Pier 5, where three soccer courts filled what was once a dilapidated pier. I spent more time watching the matches than I thought I would. How couldn’t I? It was a beautiful evening, with the lights of Manhattan piercing the sky on the other side of the East River. I then headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge, but Pier 2’s basketball courts sang their siren song. I had no cotton to stuff in my ears.

Nothing like watching some pickup games on a Saturday night. It took a while to find the subway back to Manhattan, but my reward was a walk through Dumbo and under the Brooklyn Bridge as it curves to its endpoint at street level in the core of Brooklyn’s city center.

The next day I headed out to Riverdale in the Bronx to attend a birthday party for Evelyn’s mother, who turned 90 and is still as engaged with life as when I first met her almost 29 years ago. The party was held at Wave Hill, a 28-acre public garden overlooking the Hudson River. A number of famous individuals lived on what was an estate before it became a public garden, including Theodore Roosevelt and his family during summer visits (1870 and 1871), Mark Twain (1901-03), and Arturo Toscanini (1942-45). Jane Jacobs’ nemesis, Robert Moses, did convince the owners to deed the property to the City of New York in 1960. Hey, Marshall, finish reading The Power Broker, which is the greatest book ever after Dante’s Commedia.

Monday, I headed to the airport, but not before capturing a few more images. As I have previously reported, I bumped into Bob Woodward on the roof of our hotel eating breakfast and working away. Wouldn’t you love to read his e-mails? Keeping with my policy, I did not bother him. I developed that policy in a Beverly Hills sushi restaurant back in the early Nineties. The celebrity then in question, Jason Robards, was seated at the table next to mine. Ironically, Robards played Ben Bradlee, Woodward’s editor, in the film adaptation of All the President’s Men. I wanted to tell Robards that I admired his acting, but how many countless others had told him that? And what do you say after you pay the celebrity your compliment as you stand there with coffee and yogurt in hand? Awkward.

It was then to LaGuardia via the W train, with a transfer to the M60 bus. There is nothing like shooting out the subway’s windows and on the platforms.

Post Script: “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make . . .”