Читать книгу Bond Girl - Erin Duffy - Страница 10

I DON’T CARE what anyone says: there’s no place in the world better than New York City at Christmas. When we were little, my parents used to bring Cat and me to the city to see the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall, the tree in Rockefeller Center, and the fantastic window displays on Fifth Avenue. Bundled up in our toggle coats, we’d walk from the tree at Forty-Ninth Street up to FAO Schwarz at Fifty-Eighth Street. Vendors peddled chestnuts and soft pretzels, and at night the Empire State Building was lit up in red and green. People like to say that Christmas is really a holiday for children but, as an adult, I still love it every bit as much as I did when I was a kid. I love the smells, the colors, even the crowds in the department stores. I love the garlands and wreaths and twinkling lights covering the trees that line the median down Park Avenue. December is a month of sensory overload in New York, and there’s nothing like it anywhere else on earth.