The Cloisters, just to the south, were bathed in orange light: a sort of commuter's alpenglow.
And the concluding image of a giant web of light, a sort of compilation of all that Hubble's eye registers, is something to see.
Martinez, also in the Design District; the first American outpost of Hakkasan, London's fabled Chinese restaurant, in Miami Beach's lavishly renovated Fontainebleau hotel; Red Light, a sort of upscale diner where the Caribbean and the American South meet.
Bathing in their too-bright, wasteful light became a sort of guilty pleasure, like absinthe or chocolate creams.
She went along the hall ahead of him and snapped on the light in a sort of pantry, where she searched for a vase.
The first manifestation of this was St Paul's at Glenrothes, Fife, completed in 1957, a modest building of whitewashed brick with a wedge-shaped plan, dramatically lit from a sort of tower over the altar.
You've got MiMi (light blue), a sort of mix of Tinky Winky's purple and a dash of Laa-Laa's vivid yellow—.
Sadly you can't hear Justin Salinger reading Nothing Is True And Everything Is Possible, Peter Pomerantsev's hair-curling account of life in Putin's light-entertainment dictatorship, a sort of Bright Lights Big City goes east, that should be heard by anyone who needs reminding that compared to the people who run communications in Russia, Simon Cowell is David Attenborough.
At still other points, the lights strobed and a sort of psychedelic plaid pattern appeared across the opening.
Most of the maturer items on Ms. Irvine's program were of a lighter sort: a rag and a blues variation set by Mr. MacDermot, a pleasant if unexceptional waltz by Rudolf Friml and three dances in a spicier, more self-conscious mode by Timothy Brown.
