Astoria, Queens is a little bit of suburbia right outside of the craziness of Manhattan. While I live off of an avenue filled with restaurants, bars, and shops, the street where my house sits is quiet and lined with trees. There are houses with front gardens. People hang themed wreaths on their doors to celebrate every holiday. There are Marys on the half shell in many yards, indicating that the Greek influence in the neighborhood still exists.
On warm weekend mornings I like to take walks down toward the water. I travel past the stores, past the butcher shops with whole lambs skinned and hanging in the windows (a sign out front reads: Baby Lamb Goat Pig), past the bakery filled with cakes and Italian cookies, and to the East River.