During the first few weeks after my office moved from Midtown East to Times Square, I kept my eyes peeled for every new sight, and smelled every new smell. There was Bryant Park with its huge lawn to relax on, the bright lights late at night in the Square and all the tourists milling about at all times, making it difficult to grab a bit for lunch.
One day, when I was walking to Bryant Park to enjoy some time away from my desk, I looked over and saw what was surely a hole-in-the-wall Dominican salon. It had all the markers: a row of chairs with the stuffing falling out of the plastic seats, each supporting the ass of a woman who’s been waiting too long just to get her hair done. Some of those women were chatting away on Sidekicks, some were eating beans and rice from a Styrofoam container picked up at the bodega next store. Continue reading