New York New York
The first autumn breezes have come to sweep the streets and kiss my skin and I am in love again. The humid stench and swelter of the sidewalks in summer tested me, but I am easily re-seduced. What is it about New York that one is compelled to write about it? No matter how cheesy it seems or already done, you just can't help yourself. It is a place that overwhelms the senses, that becomes the obvious context of everything you do, because anywhere else, the same actions would be undeniably different.
City of anonymity, of secrets kept, of desperation to be seen... of indifference from every passing face, of eyes on my body all the time.
I leave. Often. Otherwise, what would I become?