On my way to the airport, I think of them flying home in the middle of the night. San Francisco in St. Louis, New York in Detroit, everyone everywhere and back again all at once on their way somewhere else.
LeBron James is a scarecrow stuffed with sticks and feathers and money. He is a phantasm, a distraction, an undigested bit of corporate drama. Turns out the antidote to all of which is Lukas Verzbicas.
Climb up from the F train, into the light and rushing life and the blue of that sky at West 4th Street in Greenwich Village that first half-warm weekend, a kind of resurrection, and there it is, twenty feet high, The Cage