As Seen in NYC

As Seen in NYC doesn’t announce itself. It shows up halfway through a block, under scaffolding ribs that turn the sidewalk into a narrow corridor of shadow and noise. The city is loud here—traffic bouncing between buildings, metal humming overhead—and most people are already past before they notice anything at all.

A DUANEreade by Walgreens sign hangs above, big, official, corporate to the core. And underneath it, sprayed fast and unapologetic, is ZAMARTZ. Not sanctioned. Not polished. Just there.

That’s New York. Even the most controlled branding eventually gets interrupted. Someone leaves a mark. A clean surface becomes lived-in.

People move beneath it without breaking stride—heads down, shoulders forward, chasing the next light before it turns red. The crosswalk raises its little stop hand. The corner pretends to be a pause. Nothing actually stops.

I like this kind of detail because it isn’t trying to be iconic. It’s a reminder that the city is layered: scaffolding and storefronts, temporary structures and permanent ambition, private intent written in public ink. The mundane here isn’t empty—it’s textured.

If you’ve ever walked under scaffolding and felt the world compress into a tunnel, you know the feeling. And if you look up at the right moment, you might catch the city leaving a note.

Sometimes, it even says your name.