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![](https://i.seadn.io/s/raw/files/e0570f5f3f2693bd2f6f89c1051bbe1b.jpg?auto=format&dpr=1&w=1000)
A mile and a half above Manhattan deep in the heart of blue hour is a core memory in my aerial journey. The city lights come alive, and the streets and avenues spring into action as cars move up, down and across the island. The last bit of light kisses the skids of the helicopter as we start our bank over the crossroads of the world.
A mile and a half above Manhattan deep in the heart of blue hour is a core memory in my aerial journey. The city lights come alive, and the streets and avenues spring into action as cars move up, down and across the island. The last bit of light kisses the skids of the helicopter as we start our bank over the crossroads of the world.