Broadway, also called the Canyon of Dreams, is a location for an early morning scene in my novel, My Bad Side:

A flock of small black birds swirled above Bowling Green, hovered a moment, a single organism, and landed in the bare glowing branches of the beech trees. Apollo watched, his mouth open, moaning softly. We followed the plaques. 1910, June 18: Theodore Roosevelt, following return from his African Safari; 1926, August 27: Gertrude Ederle, first woman to swim the English Channel. Crystal called.

“You’re up early.”

“More like late.”

1950, August 31: William O’Dwyer Upon his Resignation as Mayor of New York. “You remember the Santa Claus Parade?” “I was an icicle.”

“I was a workshop elf.”

“They painted my face with silver glitter. I had that crazy hat that pointed straight up.”

I could hear her moving, her mouth muffled, distant from the receiver, and then the tinkling of glass, bottles going into the recycling.

“I sat on a giant wooden mushroom.” I switched the phone to my other hand.

“We should go on a trip.”

“Where?”

“Las Vegas.”

There was scaffolding on both sides of the street now, the black and silver crossbars, rusted bolts sticking out through broken strands of duct tape. “The Galapagos. We could swim with the seals.”

“They would just freak me out.”

“It would be incredible.”“Rome,” she suggested. “Or St. Petersburg.”

“Really?”

“The Crystal Palace.”

A rat popped out and veered wildly back at the sight of Apollo. “The Winter Palace.”

“Is that what it’s called? The Winter Palace?” There was the snap of her lighter and the intake of another cigarette. “It should be called The Crystal Palace.”

New York City Hall