(July 2018, with mom)
The world has many navels. Supposedly, one of them is here at Times Square. Probably in its most colorful version — because of the colorful large-scale advertising screens, even more colorful signs and equally colorful crowds. Perhaps also the loudest because of horns of cars, loud conversations, resounding music from several simultaneous street dance projects with a predominance of hip-hop. With an inconspicuous in this chaos ball that strikes the new year every year. With great halls of great theaters. At the intersection of Broadway running diagonally across and in spite of the rectangular grid of streets and Manhattan’s central seventh avenue. But the sixth avenue (called Avenue of Americas) is also equally noisy, as is the nearby Rockefeller Center, which may have calmer, though soaring architecture.
In short, if it is a navel of the world, it is not the navel of my world, but looking at navels of someone else’s world is, of course, fascinating.