"I hate you, Manhattan." I think, uncharitably,
as the train slides by a giant bank and a block
of apartments.
One window, skinny rectangular and high up
in the wall stands illuminated. A view of a rack
of black shoes in a white, bright as all bright
white room. And then for the next ten minutes,
it rocks me to sleep.
When I think of New York and all of it's sprawling
streets and all of its business and events and people,
both interesting and not, I get this crazy swelling joy
in my stomach. My chest cavity feels like it's
expanding with some kind of giant pride and love.

There is no other city in the world like New York.
You can feel so alone, but when you dip out from
under the scaffolding, step into the bus lane, and
meet someone's eyes who is doing just the same.
The sense of camaraderie when, late at night, on the
L train platform waiting for what seems like forever.

There is nothing like New York but I've been here
forever and I'm ready to get the fuck out,