This block was once lined with the ornate mansions of New York's early aristocrats. They would socialize on the sidewalks or on their grand stoops and promenade down Bond. As I walk down this street today, there is little life to it other than a few restaurant patrons and a few dogs being walked. However, there is beginning to be a bit more spillover from the frathole partiers on Bowery as several fresh puddles of vomit are almost always on the sidewalks in the mornings. And now there's a symbol for the lifeless and vacuous who now consider themselves the new aristocracy in this neighborhood- a frigid monument to all that is shallow, transparent, and devoid of any color except their spray-on tans and blonde highlights, that is. Welcome home to 48 Bond, Patrick Bateman!
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