Gramercy Park really is where I think I belong (well if I had a spare few million dollars or 10). It oozes a serious amount of salubriousness, and 1920's panache. It is framed by exquisite architecture, and the park itself is home to a few languid sculptures.
I had the fortune of resting up at the Gramercy Park Hotel - which I have to admit I rather enjoyed, particular the Rose Bar, resplendent with a Picasso (surely it's a fake), and sawfish body parts masquerading as objet d'art.
Best of all, I got to hang out with a great friend, Luc, who is perhaps the most sartorially gifted man in Manhattan. Good times.
Gramercy, I miss you.