- Fall is absolutely my favorite time of year. Fall is New York’s very best season. Let me always visit New York in the fall.
- There are so few dogs in New York City. This makes me inexplicably sad.
- I can’t write about New York without talking about New York as an ex-lover, as a former sanctuary that now is only causes pain when I think about it.
a) It is easier for me to be in a relationship with NYC when I’m alone. My favorite times here were wandering the city alone, engaging, observing; the smells, the energy, when my attention is really devoted to the city. Maybe I am monogamous with cities. Maybe I should live in a city that has no soul such that I can have richer human connection.
b) Sometimes it feels like NYC is the root of all of my bad decisions, all of the ghosts that haunt me.
c) … Something as of yet unarticulatable.
- I ache for the past, but I don’t miss the drama.
- I miss New York City. I could live here. Could I live here? It’s not as scary as I remember. Except the fear, destruction, dysfunction are lurking under the surface, I know they are.
- And then I walk around a corner and the entire wall of some high-end sunglasses store is a motherfucking SHARK that is about to attack and I will never survive here. And I can’t even take a picture because your phone is dead and this wouldn’t translate.
- The bar for what behavior is “crazy” seems so much lower. “Well, that dog [on the subway] looks well fed, even if it is wearing a superman halloween costume (though it’s well past halloween) and has a pacifier around it’s neck. That homeless woman muttering to herself whom it’s attached to probably treats it okay.”
- The cliche of it all. Cabs honking in Times Square, traffic stopped in the intersection as the light changes. A thick male Jersey accent yells: “Shaaaat Aaaap! Knaaak it aaaff!” And everyone around me laughs. “That was perfect!” a woman with a Long Island accent next to me quips.
- I think I should only go to musicals alone. They make me cry and cry and cry. They are always, always worth the money. I never regret it.
- When the exit is at the opposite end of the train platform, I feel like an amateur.
- When someone passes me, walking faster than I am, on the subway platform or sidewalk, I feel like an amateur.
- I love New York. I’m not sure I realized it.
- I hate New York. I could never afford to live here again.
- Maybe if I lived here again, I wouldn’t be trying to figure out all those things I figured out the first time: gender orientation butch/femme lust/longing how to fight how to fuck how to heal how to survive. Maybe the next time I’ll have a vision for how NY and I could collaborate, and I wouldn’t become this hollowed out version of myself, waiting for a strong wind to blow down the Hudson and reanimate me.