The prison silence was broken only by the whir of a generator, the purr of a hydraulic pump, the leaky-faucet sound of water trickling down the packing gland of the periscope .
Proletarian clientele vie for shabby seats at shared tables as ceiling fans whir and an ancient wall clock keeps time rather pointlessly, given that it's forever 1962 at the .
Rudolph's housing unit resonates with the constant mechanical whir and clank of electronic gates, punctuated by the sound of inmates praying, wailing and shouting conversations in .
The Dames’ dossier It’s a recent Wednesday afternoon, and the West Village coffee shop Cafe Minerva has a sleepy feel. “Dream a Little Dream of Me” plays softly in the background, while espresso machines whir and three plaid-clad baristas lean against the sun-drenched bar. Tucked away in a back corner, two young...
June 24, 2013 - New York Post