It has been two years now since I left New York City. Two years since I photographed it. Two years since I last saw it at all, even.
Sometimes it feels like I just left without looking back.
* * *
Unable to sell it, despite all our best attempts, we left our sofa in the apartment for the next tenant. A sofa that large won’t fit into a subway car; and no one in NYC who needs to buy a used sofa would be able to get it home any other way.
At that point, I’d been frustrated with it for months. I was annoyed with myself for buying such a large sofa. I was sour at its resistance to leave. I was disappointed because it was in perfect condition.
If someone else ventures to tell you the story of their sofa, it will most likely be one of red wine stains, pet piss, board game and movie nights, and a life well-lived. You'd be regaled by the richness of its existence. The butts and backs it had hosted.
But my sofa barely lived a life.
Despite its size, it had not excelled as a host. Its greatest purpose, to sleep weary friends from far-flung lands, had never truly been fulfilled. It did its job here and there, but like a failing roadside motel, it languished in purpose and left its form stubborn in place.
And those friends who never came, despite their promises to my sofa, have long since joined it in history — left behind, and ultimately unstoried.
* * *
… Sometimes it feels like I just left without looking back.
But, I always look back.
I learned a long time ago that when you must part with someone you love, you look back. You turn back to see them looking back at you while you walk your opposite ways.
In the life that I live, it might be the last time for a while… or, ever.
A Look Back
Selected Street Photographs, New York City, 2021-2022
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