My love/hate affair continues with New York City.
One minute it’s a splendid new world brimming with opportunity, wiped clean of the shame of the past, gleaming, exotic, enticing. The next it’s a relentless, soul shriveling, uber-capitalist hell hole populated by twisted Machiavellian characters one upping each other in a nausea-inducing parade of shallow vanity.
One minute I’m a respectable, semi-sane, semi-scrupulous person trying to make connections with other decent human beings. Oh, but the next, I’m a deranged, self destructive maniac whose emptiness can only be sated through impulsive action and immediate gratification.
Monday night and I’m drunk in a hookah bar making out with an Egyptian boy next to the urinal in the men’s restroom. Wednesday and I’m in a bookstore reading a book called ‘Marry Him!....blah blah blah…’ vowing to finally get my act together, start dating nice guys and have a family. Sunday and I’m having Easter dinner on Staten Island at friends of the family’s house, we’re holding hands and praying chastely.
I'm all over the place.
I guess the reality of it all is somewhere between these extremes. The balance between austerity and indulgence. Maybe I create these dichotomies because I like the drama of it all.
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