Spring 2021
W27
Issue 01
LONG LIVE THE CONCRETE JUNGLE By Kelly Reed (Advertising, Marketing and Communications, ‘21)
New York is astoundingly beautiful throughout the seasons; the beautiful buzz in the springtime that sparks optimism and an afternoon Aperol Spritz; the sweltering hot days in July that offer long hours on rooftops and picnics in Central Park; the crisp air in the beginning of autumn that welcomes hot apple cider, cardigans and trips to the Union Square Greenmarket; turning winter oh-so-quickly, yet seamlessly, overnight — demanding moments surrounded by cozy company, take-out sushi and storytelling — only to swiftly start all over again in spring, but with new memories, new aspirations and new stories to tell. Granted, yes, half the city could knock you out unconscious with its ungodly stench all the while. But last year was different. In places where I usually sought out comfort, I was terrified. The groceries stores seeped with panic and stolen glances in July, whereas they usually felt chaotic, unimportant in ritual and therapeutic all at once; Washington Square Park was empty and free of trash in September — a first; and Times Square was as quiet as the Fashion Institute of Technology library on a Friday, during the busiest holiday months, leaving Rockefeller Center’s tree lonely and lacking spirit in December. The city had become a stranger to me in a time where I needed stability most. Even so, my heart throbbed for New York like an early 2000’s rom-com. After leaving the city at the beginning of the pandemic for my Nebraska hometown — in what ended up being a two-month stay, I was worried for the city I left behind, and what would become of it while I was gone...
24
