Branches hanging over sidewalks and holes in my clothes have taught me this lesson.
So let's repair the sidewalk immediately, fix the windows, fill the holes and leave no trace — no shrines, no flowers, no statues, no plaques — and return life to normal there as fast as possible.
On Monday, residents of Bryansk placed flowers on the snowy sidewalk beside the hole, which was covered by boards.
In perhaps the most far-out take on psychogeography I witnessed during the four-day event, a young woman could be viewed on Saturday on the sidewalk applying a hole-puncher to a sheet of paper.
I got to my own street -- 181st between Vyse and Bryant -- and stood looking down it for a long moment: garbage strewn all around the houses, windows and doors broken, sidewalks full of holes, chalked obscenities, ground-down newspapers.
One year ago, they moved back, fixing up a brownstone on East 118th Street and finding that the streets retained much of the gritty, festive mix they cherished: gaudy murals, coconut-ice vendors, sidewalk domino players, hole-in-the-wall luncheonettes with incessant salsa beats, ragged tenements next to fussed-over gardens.
Someone pours orange soda from a bottle into a ragged hole in a sidewalk.
The uprooted tree left a hole in the sidewalk the size of a grave.
Construction workers in torn, dirty jeans bored a hole into the sidewalk, geysering dirt everywhere.
The streets are strewn with garbage, there are gaping holes in the sidewalks, tourist-friendly hotels and restaurants are few and far between.
