The July sun bakes the Queens pavement as I frame a girl in Jackson Heights wearing a plaid slip dress and knee-high socks, her tiny backpack bobbing to the beat of "Waterfalls" blaring from a passing Camry. The city hums with the clicking of Pogs on the sidewalk and the distant roar of the 7 train, a rhythmic chaos that honestly makes the $1.15 I just shelled out for a gallon of gas feel like a total steal.
It’s a vibe until a cyclist nearly clips my tripod—total buzzkill—but I just shake it off and keep shooting the satin-clad crowds navigating this Sunday afternoon heat. I catch a glimpse of a "No soup for you!" t-shirt in my viewfinder, a perfect, grainy slice of mid-nineties grit before the light shifts.
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The Headlines
POSTINGS: A Landmark and Dining Map; Strolls and Snacks In Jackson Heights