New York City has a gritty veneer. Its wrinkled hardened exterior wraps its core, its people, in tarnished armor. A thick skin's worth of impenetrable distance that keeps the oppressive crush of humanity at bay. It muffles the sirens and dims the brights lights. I grew up in New York City but left it a long time ago. I have returned for a bike ride.
Crossing the George Washington Bridge to enter the city, the sun lies just below the horizon. Even now there are walkers, riders and, of course, cars on the bridge. It is just after 6 A.M. on a Sunday morning but, the city that never sleeps - never sleeps.