Hotel block, NYC

I’m not very fond of hotels. They seem to stand against everything it means to be in a place, but if you want to visit they’re your lifeline. Big and vapid, they offer just enough to support life, but never enough for a full one. Even when luxurious I find them culturally bleak, artistically flawed. In their dry-eyed, 24-hour spin they present a microcosm of extremes: wasteful opulence against the squeaky wheels of myriad laundry carts. A view through a dirty window.
Hotel block, NYC
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2 Comments to “Hotel block, NYC”

  1. I guess I’m going to look at hotels a bit differently now. I still like them; they’re always associated with the excitement of travel, no matter how bland they might be.

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