Park space comes in a couple of distinct varieties. First, there are those swatches of jungle speckling the map; the old-growth, thousand-acre preserves that muffle the sounds of motors, block the views of buildings, and launch your thoughts out of this stultifying alleged civilization for a few hours. These parks are mistresses. The other main sort of park, the wife parks, are those that nestle into the cityscape like oases, as if air and grass and peace and physical joy belong in your... More »
