Broadway and 48th Street

Times Square at night: here’s how Max Frisch (in I'm Not Stiller) described the city’s confusion, color, and light:

One is astounded that…in this labyrinth of rectangular windows threaded by gleaming canals, which is repeated over and over again with no change, a person does not get lost every minute; that this never-ending movement from one place to another does not stop for a moment, or pile up into a hopeless chaos. Here and there it is dammed up into a pond filled with a white-hot glow—Times Square, for instance…. Later, everything became more colorful; the skyscrapers no longer rose like black towers before the yellow dusk, now it was as though the night had swallowed up their bodies, and what remained were the lights in them, the hundreds of thousands of electric light bulbs, a screen of whitish and yellowish windows, nothing else, thus they hovered above the bright haze that was roughly the colour of apricots, and in the streets, as though in canyons, ran streams of glittering quicksilver.