Speaking of hell, summertime 8th Ave. above 42nd St. always seems like the gateway to tourist hell, with hot, humid exhaust blowing up 8th from the Port Authority Bus Terminal, a cluster of Soviet-scale package-tour hotels, and crowds of sweaty tourists lining up for tour buses or staggering out of nearby Times Square, blinded and wrung out from their journey to the Heart of Blandness and its scorching, Burger King-scented emptiness.
Greeting them here on 8th near 47th, left-to-right in the photo below right, and in the other photos: a tour company Statue of Liberty lost in a faded orange theater front (formerly Hollywood Twin Cinemas); a lonely porn holdout; a bar full of sharks in suits from nearby office towers; and on the right -- warping the photo below right, if not spacetime -- the Ismael Leyva designed winner of my Superfinger award.
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The Leyva finger seeks to blend into the neighborhood at its base, above right, but still comes off like a plastic dominatrix. And the rest of it, below, still looks like a place built by aliens to slice & dice humans, not house them.
[ Welcome to Hell ]
[ In Search of Superfinger ]
