New York City has a delicate imperfection to it, naked and painfully vulnerable. It can confound, charm, smother, anger and arouse the most sullen nights; tug and heave till the coldest are left singed by it’s sheer fervor, throbbing and relentless. It is bluntly unapologetic about the dirt on the sidewalks, the overpriced stores and the vacillating weather. And most of all, it’s fiercely proud of it’s people. The single mom, the self important shopper, the hassled waiter, the teen rebel, the rowdy drunk, the pretty whore. It’s somebody's and everybody’s place to be. From the high heels on fifth avenue to the dumpling soup in chinatown, the neons lining broadway and the fall colors in central park, it manages to slake every parched soul that strays into it, yet leaving one famished and delirious for more. It fails to warrant any emotion in moderation but that’s the thing about this city, it has a way of generating comfort in the unlikeliest of places, weaving magic with it’s little New York moments, built, broken and bulit again, in a heartbeat.
"One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years. "