M. and I met at the Cipriani bar in Grand Central for an after-dinner drink. Maybe it was the romance of a train station, but something felt new between us. We whispered to each other from across the hall and kissed as though for the first time under an egg-blue sky. Walking downtown, we didn’t quite feel like ourselves. And the city, as though in tribute, offered new sights: the Empire State Building in bright mist, the Chrysler Building reflected in dark glass….
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The Great American Cooking Project
Notes from others: