God how I hate to see the past pass.
Perfect example: Papaya King, the one in New York that has cuddled itself on the corner of 86th Street and Third Avenue for seventy years is staring eye-to-eye at the demolition ball to make room for more Midtown mayhem.
For those unfamiliar with this institution of Manhattan’s uber-famous eateries, may I quote from an article written by Adam Platt in the August edition of New York Magazine:
“This original branch was opened in the late 1940s by a juice-loving entrepreneur named Gus Poulos, who at first sold only his tropical potions but added hot dogs — along with his trademark sweet onions — to the menu a few years later in deference to the legions of sausage-loving Germans in Yorkville. The slim, snappy dog has its charms, but what has long separated the experience from your average street cart is the sweet, tangy papaya drink that, to me, has always tasted like the magic of the big city.”
Now why this impending act of doom affects me in such a dramatic manner that compels me to write about my feelings about the inevitable is really a mystery to me. But I do know that anytime there is a landmark that is destined for the destruction that epitomizes New York – The Big Apple – I become agitated.
Change sucks.
New York is The Empire State. It is the epicenter of civilization as we know it. If I were to mention Madison Square Garden, Broadway, or even Howard Stern, who but a melting butterhead wouldn’t know that I’m speaking of “The City That Never Sleeps.” Gotham, baby!
I wasn’t going to connect this with cigars, but just in case there are those few out there who can’t stand to ignore our passion even for just a few hundred words about something else – think of those real cigar brands that if they were to disappear tomorrow how the tears would flow, the heart would ache, and the taste buds would shrink to Lilliputian proportions. Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!
Ahhhhhhh, now you understand. Pewey on progress.
IrvCigarBroker 