photo series, through the west village and into chinatown

west village, fluff and arms.

west village, tucked.

Bayard Market. Why the frogs weren't trying to escape, I couldn't tell you. Mild in comparison to the Komodo Dragon Arms for sale.

"That's not legal," Vadim chirped.

"Come on."

"It can't be."

A slight pang of hunger snuck up on us.

As featured in New York magazine, we partook in the dumplings on Mosco street. On the edge of Chinatown, the tiny, disheveled shop opened to the street with a handful of people pushed onto the street, waiting for the single woman to plate them up pork dumplings. Mounds of flour crowded the counter with finely chopped pork and scallions. Three nearly empty bottles of Sriracha littered the shelf peaking over a the two stool 'seating area.' Five dumplings will set you back $1. And they're good. Really good.

Dumplings on plates.

Although other items are offered, when we requested pork buns, we were simply given a second plate of dumplings. Three young boys barked at the woman behind the grill, "I need one more!" Without looking up from her rows of plump hissing dumplings- she corrected, "Then you give me another dollar!"

Fortune telling.

Cards and communication.

Love and things.