|West 42nd St.|
"Spring in New York City is like a displaced person; desolate, forlorn, devoid of passion or joy. It arrives wearily in this city of concrete and bricks, finding practically no trees at all. Deeming the place inhospitable and barren, it departs hurriedly on its trek south without so much as a last lingering look."
Lin-chih Tsung, The Marginal Man