Novel West Midtown Reviews Novels & Stories

He just waits for me to slide onto leather seats so soft they feel obscene. We pull into traffic. The city transforms through the tinted windows, the grime and noise filtered into a silent movie. We leave the hospital district—street vendors selling stale pretzels, pedestrians jaywalking, the honest grime of people surviving. We enter Midtown's steel and glass canyons. Then the Upper East Side. The buildings get taller. Cleaner. Whiter. The sidewalks are swept. Fifth Avenue. We stop in front of a boutique with no sign. Just a brass number on a black lacquered door.

Maya disagre‍e‍d quietly, saying that‌ sometimes trying‌ wa‍s a⁠ll anyone coul⁠d do. They t‍a‌lked about‌ smaller thi‍ng‍s af‍te‍r th‍at⁠, letting the conversation drift to safer territory. Adrian told he‌r about a r⁠estaurant he loved in Midtown, a hole‌-in-the-wall place⁠ that se⁠r⁠ved th‌e best dum⁠plings⁠ in the city. Ma‍ya told him about a booksto⁠re she had re‍ad about onl‍ine,‌ three floors of used books that smelled like possi‌bility.

Collins asked when they arrived at their meeting place - a revolving restaurant that has a rooftop view of many iconic landmarks in midtown Manhattan. Connor sighed contently, a clear indication that he enjoyed his day. But after they placed their orders, they watched amusedly when they found Connor half asleep, his head resting on his arms atop the table. “Must be exhausted. He was still up and about on the elevator ride up here.” She told a smiling Collins before looking out to check the view before her. It was spectacular. The sky is slowly turning dark. Wyoming sat contentedly on her seat watching the lights from various neon lights and billboards on the intersection of Broadway and 7

The reader will now accompany us to Geneva, one of the most beautiful villages in Western New York. On arriving at the depot we are beset by a host of runners, who call out lustily, "Temperance House!" "Franklin House!" "Geneva Hotel!" "Carriage to any part of the village for a shilling!" But we prefer walking, and passing up Water Street, and Seneca street, we soon come to Main street, which we follow until we come to a large, elegant mansion, the property of Judge Fulton, who is that evening entertaining a fashionable party. No matter if we are not invited, we can enter unperceived and note down what is taking place.

I didn’t get into college, so I took a job driving a city bus. Once I finished training, I started working the night shift with Uncle Tim. He had always been the kind of guy who followed every rule. But that night, he wouldn’t let me pick up a single passenger. He even made me keep the bus dark the entire route. Uncle Tim died shortly after that incident. A few days later, someone told me something that made my blood run cold. Uncle Tim had actually been dead for quite some time. So who the hell had been riding with me that night?

Emma stood outside Jake Morrison's apartment building on the Upper East Side, clutching her laptop bag and seriously questioning her life choices. The elegant brownstone with its wrought-iron details and perfectly manicured entrance screamed expensive the kind of place that came with doormen and marble lobbies and editors who could afford to take risks with their authors' careers.

“The food is good too. We can actually talk.” The West Village in the evening was beautiful. It was a tree lined streets glowing with warm light, with people spilling out of wine bars, the whole neighborhood feeling like it existed in a slightly softer version of New York than the rest of the city. Elara was tucked between two brownstones, easy to miss if you didn’t know it was there. It was small and intimate, maybe fifteen tables total with dark wood walls, candlelight and the kind of hush that came from really good acoustic design. A place where conversations stayed private.

The remaining days flashed in a blur, filled with preparations for her upcoming career move. Firstly, she found a suitable three bedroom apartment for her, Astor and Susannah in the Upper West Side. She needed to stay within Midtown Manhattan because the work at A. K. Media would require her to attend events at night and on weekends, while at the same time, she wanted to be close to Astor, so moving to the Upper West Side seems like the best compromise. She had decided against the Upper East Side, it's too close to both Arthur and Aaron, hence the possibility of either one of them suddenly dropping by would be too high.

In a matter of minutes, the paperwork had been signed and the keys were ours; a much easier process than I had anticipated. Opening the door to our studio apartment - the place we now called home - we had very little idea what to expect. It was cheap, and that was virtually our only criteria. We were instantly met with an overwhelmingly musty smell. The place obviously hadn't been opened up for a while, which was definitely our first port of call. I walked over to the two tall windows on the far side of the room, cranking them open to let in some fresh air. I also took a moment to take in the view. We were on the twentieth floor, with front-facing windows, allowing us to see quite a consider

Nostrils flaring, I begin, “I am not the one creating the drama, he started—” But I’m interrupted by her savory lips on mine. And what was I saying again? “I don’t care about the wine. Just keep kissing me,” she breathes through the kiss. Damn. She’s hot. After five hours, we finally glide into the quiet streets of Midtown East, the kind of neighborhood where every townhouse carries its own stories—and all my old, wicked memories.