Somewhere in the midst of my internet browsing, I jumped down a rabbit hole of images of the construction of the Manhattan Bridge. (This one is great.) I was especially interested in the photo on the top, taken in 1908 in Brooklyn, looking North on Washington Street. It reminded me of a photo I took this past July, in roughly the same spot, looking North on Washington Street.

There is something endearing about seeing an image taken years ago of something you’ve seen recently. It feels familiar yet not quite the same, a simple reminder of our histories.

Manhattan

Chapter One. He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion. Eh uh, no, make that he, he romanticized it all out of proportion. Better. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin. Uh, no, let me start this over.

The forgoing of his traditional white-Windsor-set opening credits on a black screen, Woody Allen’s Manhattan opens with a voiceover read by Allen’s character Isaac Davis, while black and white images of city slowly cycle through sets the film up as not just a love story, but as Allen’s love letter to New York.

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