WordFire

New York. How I love thee…

You knew me when I was just an embryo swimming around my mom - who was at Bloomingdales a lot.

You were there when I heard my first Mr. Softee truck.

I tasted my first snowball in your lovely park.

I pretended to like my first cigarette in one of your windy alleys.

You helped me build my strong tolerance for subway urine stench.

You helped me build my strong intolerence for ignorance.

Because of you, I love a good long walk and movies with subtitles.

You were there when I graduated from all-girl catholic school kilts, to city girl leather mini skirts, to serious bad ass power suits, back to leather mini skirts.

I love your mu-shoo, feta cheese, goat cheese, extra cheese, sidewalk vendor mystery meat, your sushi, curry and Bellinis, your smokey jazz, MoMA meandering, disco gay roller skater watching, carousel riding, old book store dust, 57th street material girl shopping, LES late night crawling, your Washington Square Park skunk weed, Time Square, Union Square, Park Avenue squares… God, I love everything - except the old squeegee guys.

I love you because you are my home town. My home base. The home of the friends  I will never unfriend. I love you because you stay your beautifully authentic self and bring out the very best, adventurous, bold, naughty, brave, open minded, thoughtful, bookish, arty, thirsty and free in me.

Take care, my love. See you soon. (And I’ll bring a friend.)