You’re looking at a relic – one of only four enclosed phonebooths remaining in Manhattan. This one is just a block from my apartment on West End Avenue and, interestingly, the other three are also on West End Ave. I don’t know how they survived, but I’m glad they did. And I bet our son, Joshua, is even gladder, because my guess is that he had lots of important I-don’t-want-my-parents-to-hear conversations in this glass box on the corner of West 90th Street. Joshua, we couldn’t hear those convos, but we knew you were having them – there was a clear sight line from the bedroom to the booth.
I can’t remember the last time I saw someone using that phone — except movie stars; film crews are always scouting the location. (In fact, this picture came from a NYC Scouting Site.) Still there’s something comforting about looking out the window and seeing it there. And yes, I continue to hope that one day I’ll catch Clark Kent squeezing himself into it and Superman flying out of it. Some dreams never die.
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