About this location
A few stories people tell about this place
1. In the early mornings, when most people were still dreaming, a delivery driver pulled up to Onward Foot & Ankle Specialists with an unusual package. The receptionist, rubbing sleep from her eyes, took one look and said, ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ The box was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, but what caught everyone’s attention was the tiny note scribbled on top: ‘Please take good care of my feet.’ Inside was a pair of oversized pajamas and a letter from a neighbor who claimed they’d been wearing them while delivering packages late at night. Everyone laughed, including the doctor, who joked that maybe he should start prescribing comfy footwear instead of surgeries.
2. At midnight, when even the city’s night owls had gone home, an odd figure appeared outside Onward Foot & Ankle Specialists’ door. A delivery driver, bundled up against the autumn chill, knocked three times and then waited. Finally, a voice from inside called out: ‘That you again, delivery guy? We’re closed!’ The driver grinned and replied, ‘Just one package for Dr. Jones—nothing urgent.’ With that, he turned around and walked away, leaving behind a small box labeled ‘Orthotic Devices.’
3. At dawn, when the streets of New York were waking up slowly, a jogger noticed something peculiar outside Onward Foot & Ankle Specialists. A shadowy figure kept appearing and disappearing near the entrance, never quite visible enough for a good look. Curious, the jogger slowed down. Just as they approached, the figure turned out to be an early-morning paperboy, delivering newspapers with his trusty bicycle. He waved cheerfully, and the jogger smiled back, realizing that sometimes shadows are just neighbors getting their daily routine started.
4. At sunset, when the city quieted down, a jogger passing Onward Foot & Ankle Specialists noticed something peculiar. Every night, just as he approached the clinic, a soft, rhythmic tapping could be heard—like someone gently tapping their fingers on wood. Curious but not alarmed, he followed the sound inside. But once inside, no one seemed to notice or acknowledge it. Finally, after several nights of following the mysterious tapping, our jogger found himself standing in an empty waiting room. On a desk sat a tiny wooden shoebox, and inside was a note: ‘Thank you for listening. I’m just practicing my new tap-dance routine.’ Turns out, it was an elderly receptionist who loved to entertain herself with her footsteps during slow evenings.