New York City.
In some ways the Big Apple is much like any other big city. The streets are crowded with strangers that will likely remain strangers, never meeting or knowing each other, too busy with their own lives to realize that the person walking next to them lives down the hall; tourists pack into poorly ventilated double decker buses, holding up city maps the size of movie posters, swarming the city "hotspots" hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous, or infamous, lingering in front of a piece of art just long enough to be impolite, laughing just a little too loud, or talking just a little too much, but more than enough to ruin the play for everyone else; everywhere one finds an abundance of everything and anything, to seek is to find not one, but an infinite number of choices, each better than the next, and a person discovers just how small and infinitesimal their place in the world is.
Yet, there is a certain something about New York which sets it apart from all those other cities that I just can't quite put my finger on...not yet anyways. Perhaps it was the incessant rain on my first visit to the city, or the near hypothermia inducing conditions, or the almost tragic scene that played out in Greenwich village, when after two exhausting hours of wading through freezing streets to find Darling, I gave up, hailed a cab, only to watch it pass by through the fogging glass as we turned the corner to go back uptown, that prevented me from fully grasping what it was exactly that one was meant to love about New York City. But here I go again...lets just hope it doesn't rain.
