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At 10:30, I tell myself I have plenty of minutes remaining to do the last minute things I think I can do, and bolt out the front doors of the hotel. There are souvenirs I’ve been meaning to buy. There is a sandwich I’ve been compelled to devour. Both will be found in the Quarter.

I'm here for the Media & Publishing summit.

On Quincy Ave, in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn.

There you go, welcome Moshiach with an act of Goodness and Kindness.

It's a lovely 73 degrees out right now. 

Everybody loves the sunshine, including this USPS carrier who just rolled up his sleeves while waiting for the light to change.

A morning rush compounded by delays on the J/M line means malcontent commuters standing cheek to cheek in the cars.

I will wait for the next train.

Observed this morning on a Manhattan bound J express train.

Alessandra longed for real Italian food. For Valentine's Day weekend, we ventured to the Bronx, to Arthur Avenue and the Market to eat it by the pound.

Seeing him sitting on the damp sidewalk in the misty morning, scrawling in a notebook, I had asked the kid in the Type O Negative t-shirt what he was working on.

"Just tryin' to write some lyrics," he said.

Much had melted since Jonas covered the coast. It was last weekend we'd first wanted to go. The closure of MTA had made travel to Coney Island impossible then.