Sunday morning, 6 a.m. Streetlamps still flooded Lexington Avenue, and the first hint of light was barely detectable in the skies overhead.
In search of an elusive breakfast joint, I settled for a medium coffee from a national chain known for their remarkably strong brews. My husband, Jeff, was trying to hold out until we could find the restaurant.
With the styrofoam cup nestled snugly in the crook of my palm, and my Nikon D-SLR swinging from the strap around my shoulder, Jeff and I started South along Lexington Avenue. The streets were nearly empty so early on a Sunday morning, leading my gaze to the monolithic buildings lining either side of the seemingly endless avenue.
“Would you mind holding my coffee for a second?” I asked.
“Sure,” he grumbled, taking the sytrofoam cup from me. I thanked him with a wordless smile, carefully lifting the camera’s viewfinder to my eye-level and snapping the shutter once, twice.