Yes, we walked 20 blocks through Hell's Kitchen for this.
Q was sleeping furiously by the time we got there.
Mike lives for his semi-annual Gray's outing. Sure, he's been a sous chef and culinary director for some of the finest restaurants in Denver and Vail, but that doesn't in any way diminish his appreciation of a fine hotdog.
The heatwave had reestablished itself on our final morning and NY was back to its traditional haze of humidity.
Do you love that zippers sign? This kind of place is still alive and well in the City.
You've gotta love NY. There is simply no place like it.
Q, freshly awakened and not entirely sure she's happy about it.
I'm sorry, but "hot doggery" is a brilliant phrase.
Q experiencing her first Papaya drink (Gray's claims all manner of restorative and rejuvenatory properties in association with this drink. Who knows? But it sure hits the spot on a sultry day.)

(PS - as my swine-flu delirium continues, I find great happiness in dreaming back through our NY photos. I treasure my time in NY so terribly much more now than I ever did when I lived there. One of those little ironies of life.)