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New York Stories, Pt. 1
Marching For Mahsa Amani
Over a Bridge so close
Plans always change.
When we planned our New York trip last summer, we thought it would be only a sweet getaway — just the two of us, my wife and me. Sure, we would have supper with old friends and brunch with extended family. Sure, we’d get to see the new version of Death of a Salesman, featuring a mainly African-American cast.
And yes, we’d revisit Barney Greengrass for its eggs, sturgeon, and lox breakfast, a feast I dream of on every other weekend.
My wife made all the arrangements, finding a direct flight, putting us in town early on a Friday, and then departing late on Sunday, giving us three days in Manhattan to immerse ourselves in the city with all its charms and often unpleasing aromas.
On arrival, we even learned of the High Line, the brand new Edward Hopper exhibit at the Whitney, and to give away a story better told in full later, we made finally it to the Hotel Chelsea.
With all this planned and in the works, the one thing neither we nor the world, apparently, could prepare for was the brutal murder of Mahsa Amani last month at the hands of the Iranian government, or more accurately, its “morality police.”