I’m lying in a grassy field, tucked away in the folds of Prospect Park—belly-down, feet swinging in the air. I hear birds chirping, and the warm air soothes my skin. I feel like I’m nestled in the rolling hills of a bucolic meadowland, somewhere far away from New York City. This space allows me to escape from the bustle of the city, while still being deeply in it. I flip over onto my back and daydream while watching wispy clouds drift across the blue sky. A sweet, minty aroma flavors the air ...