Black and White Street Photographs of New York City by Matt Weber

So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey
and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, all the
people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the
children cry, and tonight the stars’ll be out, and don’t you know that God is Pooh Bear? the evening star must be drooping and
shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens
all rivers, cups the peaks and folds the final shore in, and nobody, nobody knows what’s going to happen to anybody besides
the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Dean Moriarty, I even think of Old Dean Moriarty the father we never found,
I think of Dean Moriarty… ©Jack Kerouac