Only observing, passing through.
New York City
Pop the bubbly – I just celebrated a milestone: my two-year New York-iversary. That’s right, it’s been 24 months since I arrived in the Big Apple as a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed 21-year-old, fresh from college, desirous of adventure and yearning for new beginnings.
You know you’re a real New Yorker once you’ve cried in public for the first time – suddenly unable to contain yourself, to present and conduct yourself based on your considerations and concerns of how those around will you see you.
I have often heard that New York can and will either make or break you.
Give me a 4-bedroom, 1-bathroom apartment so far uptown that it isn’t even considered Manhattan.
Aren’t we all (by we, I mean everyone who lives / comes to New York City) looking for a cheap eat?
In Washington Square you could have sworn it was summer. There were jugglers and musicians – guitarists, trumpeters and drummers – and peddlers and freaks and elderly people on benches and Frisbee players and older gay men.
Among North America’s most professionally produced author events, the 2015 Writer’s Digest Annual Conference dances into New York this week, as Manuscript WishList tells writers just what moves literary agents are looking for.
Growing up in New York City, you get used to a certain lifestyle: A fast pace, no time for small talk, no patience whatsoever. But when you leave the city for a breath of fresh air, you leave all of that behind.
A friend of Leroy’s got a 98 on his high school English Regents. On the test, an essay question said, “Write a composition on your favorite place,” and he started his essay, “My favorite place is the vagina . . .”