Why fry by the ocean when you can scorch on the NYC sidewalks?

I hadn’t been to Manhattan in quite some time. Returning, I see all its contrasts as poetry.

The old side by side with the new. Burned out church, new construction.

Antiquated evidence of New York’s beaver-rich past in the Astor Place subway stop.

A million year old hotel, updated several times.

The struggles of nature.

Pity the poor oak that hits its head against the shed scaffolding for years.

Or the struggling ginkgo.

Still, its rugged New York bark survives, as tough as any New Yorker.

You wouldn’t think it, but in addition to the dead and the wrecked and the unpruned, some trees flourish. As we walk, we look up to see the honey locust offering up its elegant chartreuse pods right on schedule.

Pagoda tree lets down its perfect profuse blossoms.

A Chinese elm appears to be strutting its stuff with that glorious bark.

Yes, we know you’re beautiful.

There’s even an allee of London planes by a Christie Street playground. Take that, Central Park!

Don’t say that New Yorkers aren’t fond of nature. If it’s possible to buy it, they like it.

Nature is everywhere in Manhattan if you’re looking for it. Never know when you might trip over a critter of carved driftwood.

Or an ancient stone lion guarding a tenement stoop.

The East Village does change, but somehow remains as gritty and vibrant as ever. An old signpost at Astor Place.

Highlighting old haunts: Remember that crazy place CBGB? Most in the East Village do.

St. Marks Place is a good location to get fitted out with a new wig, as it always has been.

Art thrives alongside commerce. Historic drug store.

Magic garb.

Throwback clothing.

We don’t go in though the window display beckons.

Signage, in New York ever brilliant. Jerk, stewed, vegan. Something for everyone.

A sign for something or other.

Or something else.

A place to go rogue. Aren’t you glad there is one? People move here from their tiny towns to be just that.

Butter above.

Encouragement below.

Further encouragement.

Also admonitions.

And observations.

Does this restaurant entice you?

How about a choice hamburger?

There is a new place I’ve been to that specializes in stewed frog and baked cow lung.

Is it just me or is absolutely every surface in the East Village tagged now?

Need wheels? Got ’em.

Some things never seem to change. Need sustenance?

You can still go to B and H Dairy and sit at the counter and delight in cold borscht. No cell phones allowed, however. What a relief.

In this case followed by the best chocolate milkshake I ever have drunk and a conversation with a witty and wise waitress.

Weed is old. New York’s storefronts have been selling the stuff for ages. Now that it’s legal, some of the cooler mom-and-pops are going under.

While others have been elevated to posh pot palaces. To which would you rather bring your business?

The Lower East Side still has a great bong selection for those who need one.

Coffee, coffee, coffee. Please!

After straggling in to an East Village café it seems there is something new to do with iced coffee. Serve it in a bag, as they do at 787 Coffee on East 7th near A.

The counter guy Diego seems surprised and bemused that we are surprised and bemused by this technological innovation.

The store opens up its wonders as we began to sweat slightly less.

Again, we are flummoxed with the heat. But it seems the store is owned by a branding genius.

Good place if you’d like an orgasm ball cap.

Or to sip your java on a swing in front of the plate glass. If you are a creative, that is.

I might be one. Not sure. Too hot to decide. We thumb through the owner’s book of aphorisms and while later they will seem a bit corny, at the time they are brilliant.

Wit and wisdom.

Reassurance.

Even the bathroom elevates the mood.

Since when did NYC get so nice? Actually it’s always been nice. In its own crochety way. We New Yorkers know that.

Diego comes over with welcome H2O.

Andy Warhol is both old and new at Brant Museum on 7^th Street, housed in a vintage Con Edison substation.

Warhol’s work ever fresh.

Yes. I’m with you, perspicacious Andy.

Who knew that as a young artist he produced a pin the tail on the donkey set up?

I think he’d like the fact that his self portrait graces a 65-dollar tote bag in the gift shop..

Jeff Koons wannabe balloon piggy banks are not produced by Jeff Koons, the salesperson corrects me rather haughtily, but by an independent manufacturer. Yes, visitors do have questions. Okay Miss Lonely but you’re gonna have to get used to it, as Dylan wrote in his most famous song, you know the one.