A convincing local, with the variety of Niw Yaw'ka's accent that borders on Bostonian, is taking is out of town relations sight seeing in East Midtown, near my work. They drink it all in and snap pictures. He narrates.
"And that's the 59th Street Bridge. Or the Queensboro Bridge. Or the Ed Koch Bridge! All you have to do in this town to get something named after you is die. When I die I guess they'll name a fire hydrant after me for dogs to piss on."
Of course, Koch isn't dead, but I take his point.
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