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flatiron frame one

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the other flatiron

..from atlanta..

The English-American Building, commonly referenced as the Flatiron Building, is a building completed in 1897 located at 84 Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta, Georgia, on the wedge-shaped block between Peachtree Street NE, Poplar Street NW, and Broad Street NW, also creating a one-block break in Williams Street. It was completed five years before New York’s Flatiron Building, and shares a similar prominent flatiron shape as its counterpart. It was designed by Bradford Gilbert, a Chicago school contemporary of Daniel Burnham, the designer of the New York building. The building has 11 stories, and is the city’s second and oldest standing skyscraper. The Flatiron building is protected by the city as a historic building in the Fairlie-Poplar district of downtown, and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places.(wiki)

..another view..

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..quick post, time to hit the sack..

..same place where i got this..

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moleman series: flatiron

..several people looked up to see what i was shooting at, little did they know that i was shooting “it all”.. 🙂

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bow down to no one

as a follow up to the “ny faux” post i did the other day, today’s post is about the real thing.. this here’s the flatiron building.. as you can see, the empire & the chrysler are nowhere in sight.. that is because, they’re behind me.. so that my friends, are some of the buildings in manhattan.. here’s an interesting description about manhattan from a commenter @ gawker:

“It is a complex miasma of longstanding social and economic gentrification; of people, regular and celebrity, of various races and ethnicities choosing to remain sequestered from one another, except during the hours between 9am and 5pm, or when they get their Chinese food delivered; of hot dog carts parked next to falafel carts parked next to storefront Wendys and Starbucks, creating a wonderfully malodorous assault on one’s senses, and possibly killing them; of the media elite and the blogging underclass, and vice versa, of course; of traffic and pigeons and sometime smells of caramel or fudge or swamp gas wafting in from New Jersey; of layoffs at newspapers, TV anchors under layers of makeup and radio reporters acting like the days of the week are ‘dress-down Fridays’; of sidewalk vendors selling goods you’d rather not know, or acknowledge, weren’t and will never be ‘the real thing’; of tall buildings that spit debris onto unwitting pedestrians below, and pedestrians that spit; and, above all, of triumph in love, of love in triumph, of all things ever thought romantic and tragic, right and wrong in the affairs of the heart. That, my child, is Manhattan, a floe of schist in humanity’s complex sea, and never, my child, shall we tramp there.”