Sunlight On Your Face

If you've ever possessed the thrilling opportunity to live in The City, you recognize your heart palpitations of sheer excitement in flying in high above the skyscrapers or walking low along the streets among their foundations.

Sometimes you're in bliss, sometimes you're in rage.  But overall, you are madly, blindly, utterly in love.




You fantasize of mercilessly razing through deep, curbside crowds, yet contain your sidewalk rage because you truly adore and thrive in this motley crew of 8 million people.

Your bedtime lullabies soothe with the comforting sounds of sirens and horns and blasphemy reigns by the mere suggestion you close your blinds, ever, even while modestly dressed in your birthday suit.

You pay $7 for sliced cheese and bicep curl all your $2 million groceries home.

You trudge up 5! flights of stairs to your current palace of 420 square foot dreams, dread like the plague your search for a new apartment and hurl the moment you hear the price tag for this fresh, new home of nightmares.

You frolic among the shimmering lights and merry sounds of the festive holidays with their chestnut aromas. Then, your joyous memories freeze maddeningly when you can't feel your nose, your face burns and tears well up in the early winter frost.  

You efficiently and structurally navigate by the grid system and after years manipulating streets and aves you still, continuously, walk dazed and confused among the diagonals of the West Village.

You refuse to accept the kindness of disease-ridden subway handles, then, unceremoniously trip, roll and land into the shocked and unsuspecting lap of your fellow New Yorker.  And now you can't get up.

You never cease to be mesmerized by the unbelievable piece and serenity among the trees, breeze and even horse crap in Central Park.  What a genius idea.  

You sometimes want to push the old lady who somehow had the balls to cut you in line and then scream at you.

You grope the sans seatbelt leather cushion of your screeching cab infused with masala curry potpourri fearing that you are going to die by swerve and then, realize...happily, you are out of the rain, watching live with kelly updates and can pay by credit.

You only asked for a reservation for two, yet you sit thigh to thigh to each person next to you.  Yes, all six of you prior strangers still refuse to chat with one another yet you now know the other's most private, intimate, salaciously funny life stories.

You pay district tax?!  And no, that's not a cute neighborhood squirrel but a fat, ole, nasty rat.  The 21st century version of danger lurking in the night streets.

You spend waaay too much money, you party obscenely and you work like a dog.

You take your big dreams to this gargantuan city and you savor every teeny-weeny leap towards success.

You love The City, where the streets all have a name.  But you're still building up love.  It's all you can do.