My God. The pavements are filthy. I wonder how much dog poop residue is on the soles of my shoes. If I lived here, I would make all my visitors remove their shoes. Speaking of dogs, all the ones I see look so stressed. They have to rush around between so many pairs of legs, and some of them look worried about some sort of undefined disaster.
I would give my eye teeth to live in the Carrie Bradshaw Mansion. Or any brownstone along one of these leafy streets. It would have a back garden.
Why I lust after back gardens is a mystery, because I hardly ever even sit out on my own deck, for God’s sake.
Speaking of decks and gardens, why does EVERY SINGLE couple on Househunters inevitably declare when looking at a deck or balcony that “they can see themselves having coffee out here?” We all know that nobody goes out on their deck every day to drink coffee! They slug it down while checking emails and putting on makeup!
OH, no. That guy over there is ranting around in the middle of the square in his underpants. Never see THAT in Dayton.
I love the Highline. This is the ticket. If I had an apartment overlooking the Highline, I could have coffee at my kitchen table but look out at all that lovely decking and nature. I wonder what these apartments go for.
I met a woman who lived for thirty years in a NY studio apartment the size of my kitchen. New Yorkers must really want to BE here.
There is a restaurant for absolutely everything. My God. A watermelon bistro?
I like to take cabs. The Uber thing is a mystery to me. Knowing that the guy coming to get me is named Alfredo isn’t enough to get me to install that entire app thing.
New York children seem very confident. I guess it’s necessary. They have to know subway lines, they order their own food in restaurants, and they read the New York Times while having bagels and lox on Sundays. Apparently everybody does brunch in NY on Sundays. But midwestern kids get to ride their scooters up and down the sidewalk in front of their houses. I am not sure the confidence is worth the trade-off. And how New York kids trick or treat is a mystery. A sad mystery.
My legs hurt from the walking. Also, I have fallen down every single time I am here. I am obviously a rube from Ohio, where pavements are even.
There is nothing like a trip to New York to make me appreciate my own car right out there in the garage, just waiting for me to take it to the grocery, park directly in front of the store, and then ferry me back home, where I can stroll with my bag ten steps into my kitchen to unpack. No toting and walking. No taxi. No Subway. No elevator. No problems.
The people here look either harried, stressed, or in an extreme hurry. Oh, my God. They are just like their dogs.