NY  2001  (1)
 

NYPD. New York Police Department, I read, in yellow capital letters on the orange-colored cars. The silhouette of a pedestrian in front of it, passing fast. Two cops, next to the rear of the car. As if out of a sudden dream, skyscrapers, in yellows and greenish blues. The black night and the tiny stars in it. They creep into the gaps between the buildings, the gap left by the space of a street.
Drops of blood, or the blossoming poppies of Tuscany have entered the streetscape. Little Italy and Chinatown, with its lucky dragons and fireworks chasing away the bad spirits cannot be far away. The cool technical songs of progress that were born in Chicago when the 19th century was becoming the 20th have given way to another, more lively music. And yet a music not without cruel, without harsh, and edgy  moments.
 
 
 

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