We all love to travel. Exploring the world one country at a time, widening our horizons and truly indulging in the global cultural mosaic.
New York City
“Transfer is available to the P.A.T.H. or, as I like to call it, the cusp of the Gates of Hell.”
Los Angeles vs. New York is a rivalry as classic as Betty vs. Veronica, as old as the Montagues vs. the Capulets. But really, they aren’t comparable. Los Angeles is its own unique being; a place that I have grown to love.
For me, New York was a city of firsts.
To be fair, he can’t really say he didn’t see this coming, given how ten minutes into our first date I fell into a trash pile and cursed the entire five boroughs of New York.
The trick to living here, if I’m in any position to offer advice on this matter, is to know who you are.
Pick your poison.
An ode to the every-situation breakfast food.
My very first date in New York was a stupidly picturesque experience. It was the pleasant end of summer easing into autumn, and I ceremoniously put on a white summer dress I knew the season would soon not permit.
This morning, I stepped outside my apartment on Williamsburg’s busy Metropolitan Avenue to find my worst nightmare come true: my discarded bra, t-shirt, gym shorts, empty CD cases and other bits of garbage I’d carefully placed in a plastic bag were strewn across the grate in front of my building.