Dating someone in a different borough seems easy enough at first, but soon enough, you’ll come to think of it as something akin to a long-distance relationship.
The “greatest city on earth” isn’t New York. It’s whatever city that makes you feel the best, the most comfortable, the most satisfied with this world.
No one really talks about Brooklyn. The weeks spent dealing with bed bugs, the meaningless sex that is offered to “us” beautiful people every night of the week and alcohol that flows as liberally as NYC tap water.
Things don’t close. You are never wanting for a place to give your inebriated or starving self food at 5am.
“In Nashville things seemed to move to relationship territory more quickly.”
A young man serenades the train; he sings Frank Sinatra’s “Love” and he’s not very good. But he has a positive energy. It makes me wonder if I pause enough to appreciate all the bravery in the world.
We own no saucers. It’s not a particularly profound fact.
“Do either of you live on the second floor of this building, by any chance?” she asked.
I was not 18. I was no longer an import fresh to the city, prime for marring with the ever-so-enlightening power yielded by New York alone.