New York City has a sneaky way of getting inside
of you. If you’re
not careful — which most of us aren’t — it will sweep you away like a tortuous
sometimes-lover, the one everyone has been intimate with, but no one can really
belong to. Even so, we obsess. NYC’s vastly different boroughs, intricate
neighborhoods, and complex personalities (often radiating from every street
corner) have the ability to breathe life into us, while simultaneously leaving
us as lonely as an autumn leaf fluttering into a damp gutter. Just as soon as the
city presents itself to us, it sneaks away…and we are stuck, starting over.
“I was enthralled by the bedlam of the
place — girls in love with girls, boys with boys, two boys in love with one
girl who was in love with P. The beds were strewn with sex toys, and no one
ever slept. That galaxy has now imploded. So has the Murray Street crew — guys skateboarding in CK briefs and feather boas through the
living room, girls scratching on the turntables. G. and B. are in jail now. I
loved both of them, but I haven't written either one a letter.”
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