There’s not much to see in Korsa K. Nzidee‘s office because he’s just moved into it.
Korsa is from Nigeria.
His black granite-topped desk, which takes up most of the shoebox-sized space, is appointed with nothing more than a laptop and a small statue of a charging bull.
The bookshelves are bare save for a half dozen awards and plaques, and the mini closet in the corner is crammed with three empty hangers.
Korsa is proud to call it his own. He worked a long time in the corporate…
The cane, shiny like a sword, doesn’t bother Konstantinos Pylarinos that much. He’s learned to shuffle slowly with it on one side and his daughter Penny on the other.
Konstantinos owns Byzantion Woodworking.
It’s not his feet that he’s worried about. It’s his hands. After the stroke struck him in his 71st year, he couldn’t carve any more, and that hurt transcends the physical pain.
Konstantinos, the owner of Byzantion Woodworking, started whittling when he was…
Just when you think you’ve heard everything odd about Astoria, Marie Carter starts telling stories.
Marie’s a tour guide for Boroughs of the Dead.
Did you know that the ghost of Roaring Twenties matinee idol Rudolph Valentino downs martinis in The Astor Room?
Have you seen the pregnant shrouded spirit who floats around 34th Avenue at 44th Street?
And have you ever had a close encounter with the garroting ghost of Old Astoria Village?
Marie’s a freelance writer and editor.
He strangled…
Steven Shane Wolhar is trying to drink his morning coffee, but every time he’s about to take a sip, his cellphone interrupts. A client calls; a client texts; another one or two or three email.
Steven works for Halvatzis Realty.
Steven, an agent for Halvatzis Realty, makes his living selling houses and renting apartments. In New York City, these transactions are not simple matters, so it’s Steven’s job to make them seem easy.
He spends so much time on this job — and on his…
You can’t miss Sergio Furnari’s pickup truck. It’s the dusty-silver 2002 Dodge Ram carrying 11 passengers on its roof.
Sergio’s .
Sergio climbs into the cluttered cab and drives toward the East River. When the skyline comes into view, he stops the engine and scales the scaffolding to take a seat with his pals on the I-beam.
He unfurls the flag and lights a Marlboro.
Sergio: sculptor/producer/dreamer.
It doesn’t get any better than this.
In case you don’t know…
