One day I’ll go to New York and get lost in all it’s beauty and chaos. I’ll live in a tiny studio apartment in Manhattan, given my upper-middle-tier income, and I’ll walk my tiny chihuahua through Central Park as the sun lowers over the West Side. When the winter comes, I’ll welcome Thanksgiving, my first White Christmas, and the coveted “New Years in Times Square”.
I’ll be another nameless face, squeezing through the crowded streets of Midtown Manhattan to my nine to howeverlongovertimeruns job. That is until the barista at the cafe I’ll frequent everyday knows my name- and my order. I’ll watch the pounds pack on as I make Katz’s Deli my second home. I’ll sit in the exact spot Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan sat in When Harry Met Sally, day dreaming about “the-one” who will sit opposite me.
I’ll watch a broadway show every week! Ticket for one please. I’ll frequent the top of the Empire state building! Ticket for one please.
I’ll wander Fifth-Avenue and be entranced by its prestige, before making several astronomically priced purchases. I’ll even nibble at a pastry outside the Tiffany’s store before heading home. Then I’ll sit in my apartment surrounded by the emptiness of commercialism, listening to the honk of traffic, the blaring of sirens, and the silence of my life, day-dreaming about the city of Paris, in which I’ll one day live.