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My first memory of the Grand Central Terminal clock is a scene from The Fisher King, a 1991 film about redemption, finding love and losing your mind, if not in that order. Commuters entering the terminal,milling about as they do, then finding random partners with whom to dance, they waltz through a homeless man's fantasy, reverting to their commuting task as the music breaks.
That's neither here nor there, really. The scene simply placed in me the desire to experience this iconic space for myself.
On Sunday, May 20th, 2012 (at about 2.35 according to the aforementioned clock), I found myself in Grand Central amongst the rabble - mainly fellow tourists, with, sadly, very little waltzing on offer - and proceeded to take some photos, digital and film. My film camera - a 1953 Rolleicord twin lens reflex camera - is often a source of interest to others, though ALWAYS a source of interest to me, and was in fine form that day.
At a certain point, I centred myself on the stairs on the East ...
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