New York City.
Once before I walked these streets.
The contrast between rich and poor. White, Black, Latino.
Urban decay and iconic imagery.
I’ve been back since, rarely for the same reasons as the time before, but always for something.
There’s always something. Something innovative. Something advanced. Something dismal. Something sexy. Something, something, something. There’s always something.
Among the throngs of soccer teams from Europe, high school groups from Iowa, brokers and politicians from Boston, Washington, Los Angeles and Tokyo.
Through it all there are people. People with burdens they carry. Some not even realizing they carry it.
Yet their eyes do. Their eyes betray feelings of anxiety and pain. Broken relationships, and expensive mortgages. Women breaking a lofty glass ceiling. Men mired in the turmoil of the stress of today. Children with no hope for tomorrow.
They live here. They breathe here. They abide here. This is their home and they know nothing else.
This is New York. For so many reasons, I love it, I feel it.