Last weekend we took a ferry to Staten Island, the forgotten borough of NYC. It was perfectly sunny and crisp, which made for a fun cruise on the water. Staten Island itself was special, in a weird way. I can't quite put my finger on it.
We stumbled upon grand old houses with so much charm and personality. However, they've seemed to have outlived their prime by a good twenty years. Empty streets, not a soul walking in the sun. Curious objects sitting in cluttered front yards. Curiouser objects to be seen through windows. I kept imagining the owners of these houses being all very special and full on characters, like Alice's Mad Hatter.
We left the island a bit mystified and vowed to come back one day for further exploration.
To completely de-romanticise you, check out that smog! Poor Manhattan people. Only the top of the Freedom Tower gets some fresh air. Oh, and I am pretty sure I witnessed a drug deal going on between two of the very few people we actually saw on Staten Island. This big city life, it is all so very scandalous.