When I think of New York, I think of opportunity. I think of dimly-lit jazz bars where people drink themselves into dance and collectively inhale the colourful smoke that their cigarettes spit into the crowded air. I think of coffee brewing at seven in the morning in diners along every street, scenting the city in a caffeinated excitement that lurches cloudy mornings into a state of infinite energy. I think of poetry and art tattooing the alleyways and fronts of buildings, of business and busyness and yellow cabs and big dreams, all squished into one little apartment that costs way too much, with pipes that leak and floorboards that creak, shared between roommates that take nightly shifts at the neighbourhood pizzeria to free up their mornings for auditions.
When I think of New York, I think of beauty. I assume it doesn't hold the hazy comfort of the countryside or the lulling wondrousness of a historical village, but there's something about it. The crowds of people and the honking and the billboards and the endless rush of activity that inspires and motivates and drives those within its little ecosystem to keep up with it.
When I think of New York, I think of fame. I think of Paul Simon and Leslie Gore and Alicia Keys and Carly Simon. I think of wisdom beyond compare and finding oneself amidst the comfortable chaos of others trying to do the same.
What I think of New York is hardly relevant. I may be off the mark by a Mitch and a half.
But let it set the scene.
YOU ARE READING
New York, I Love You
Fanfictionbut you're bringing me down (LCD Soundsystem) The land of opportunity, the land of dreams, the land of inspiration and wonder and culture and awe and paperback romance. Kevin Olusola didn't plan on staying very long; he was just there to catch up...
