This is the city where my pants are never tight enough, my shoes not high enough and my walk never fast enough. I need to dust off my air kisses, which I haven't practiced in quite a while. Synchronizing the cheek swap at the right moment is critical. Is it one cheek or two, I forgot how the rules work.
NYC is oddly enough, my home that isn't home. The Chrysler Building will always make me smile and crossing one of the bridges at night, any of the bridges, makes my heart glow. The city sings to me:
Do not go. You cannot go. You owe us your stories. You owe us your song.