In New York, Concrete Jungle Where Dreams Are Made

Lately I’ve been going to places because I feel like it.  For instance, I went to Toronto on a whim because I wanted to see the Hockey Hall of Fame.  My friend and I just recently went to New York City because we wanted to see it during Christmas time.  Aside from the massive population explosion because of everything Christmafied, I have a love affair with New York.  Me.  The kid who lives for Arkansas football games and is used to see a dead deer being skinned.

Yes.  I want to live in New York, even if just for a year.  Maybe I’m crazy, but I fell in love with being called an “ungrateful bitch” by the many homeless men with Tourettes.  I named the first NYC rat I saw Speedy Gonzales and was rooting for him to not get hit by the train.  The food was delicious and I willingly ate things I normally wouldn’t with people practically screaming 3 feet from me about their future plans for grad school to study astronomy (okay, so maybe I hated that kid, but whatever).  You can walk everywhere.  You can people watch out the wazoo.  You can be surrounded by a bajillion people and then turn down one street to utter quiet.  You can see real life versions of “Diary of a Mad Black Woman” taking on the city.

Yeah.  I think I need to try it out.  Plus, there are so many more coffee shops I haven’t tested to in my new found quest to taste “The World’s Best Coffee.”  Plus, it looks like this:

One hand in the air for the big city
Street lights, big dreams, all lookin’ pretty
No place in the world that could compare
Put your lighters in the air

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