I'm not 15 minutes out my front door, not yet across the Triborough Bridge, and already I miss New York. Suddenly I'm nostalgic for the abuse: high demands, low pay, expensive cocktails and the most honest honesty you'll ever know.
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The 59th Street Bridge has no extraordinary sight lines. It doesn't touch the sky, like the George Washington or Verrazano bridges. It's a workhorse bridge. Just like me!
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