New Yorkers. So different, colossal, volume. Complex, unfathomable, dirty and odorous. So bright, harlequin, rough and kind. In themselves, outwards, around, rather far off, not in here – and not sure if there. They soar in cloud nine, and those clouds burst out of chimneys, sticking up along the houses and roads.

New Yorkers. Not from New York. As tourists, dogs, and rats in the subway. Inside of their eyes, there are smouldering sadness, loneliness and the main question “how to pay bills and rent”.

New Yorkers. The mixture of impatience, acceleration, time count and different worlds. They live in groups, meetups and stuffy cages, entwined by dirty air from AC. Wet spaces, sweaty dreams and humid bodies attacked by the cold of temperature differences.

New Yorkers. Salad of cultures and eras. Here you go – Russians, Italian, Chinese, African American and Hispanic. Here you go – ex soviet union slash democracy. Here you go – gay, hippie and golden art youth from Bushwick. Here you go – Upper East Side and Not-Harlem-Yet.

New Yorkers. Suffering, begging, lazy and plodding. Working-a-lot and till-5pm-scheduled. They sleep 4 hours and drink a gallon of coffee each day, swallowing antidepressants and stimulators just to be in time. And not everywhere and anywhere, but at least to reach the bottom, get to “Target”, and spend the quarter of day underground, where it is almost “no service”.

New Yorkers. So textured, diverse, grasping “the American Dream”. Fervent, passionate, sexual, multifaceted. And, seems, already adored by me.

New Yorkers.

You can see more pictures of Creatures here.

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