New York City (aka- Home)

I'm an expat New Yorker currently residing in San Francisco; it's an uneasy coexistence. I'd like to think our parting was mutual, but I could gauge her patience was done with me- and too often had I seen how she'd lash out when ignored.

My NYC is one rooted in time; it no longer exists. My NY was dirtier, scarier, poorer and yet, somehow more humane. That doesn't particularly make sense, but then neither does wholesale gentrification (also occurring right here, right now in SF- more on that soon). My NY remains within, a part of who I am, and what I will always be.

NY, of course, could not care less of me, or any of its own. It is a solitary, monolithic creature devoid of sentiment, nostalgia or human kindness. Greater than its parts, it simply carries on, however wounded or emboldened. It woos, uses, discards- no exceptions. Be thankful for the ride, however long or short the day or night.

New York City, you're a woman.
Cold hearted bitch, oughta be you're name.
Oh, you ain't never loved nobody,
Yet I'm drawn to you, like a moth to flame...
-Al Kooper

Yeah, this is the real NYC anthem, perhaps a mythic or no longer existent NY, but one thing's for sure- you can dump that overstuffed, overblown Frank Sinatra bombast of a homage deep down in the Hudson where it belongs; all due respect Frankie Boy!

PS- To those offended by the female metaphor, my apologies- it's an old fave... but no excuse. Some day a woman will compose a fitting counterpart. And old goats like me will soon depart...