Dear New York,
Like an escapee, cathartically running from an abusive relationship, I say goodbye. No longer will I be awakened by your car horn blasts during my blissful R.E.M. No longer will I wait on subway platforms so hot, I am left to wonder if the dark prince is cackling just a few feet below the tracks. And never again will I be forced to endure the bitter perfume of urine and refuse I have lovingly come to call “Manhattan juice.”
We had some good times. You showed me more excitement than I’m sure to find in a lifetime of suburban living. You brought some truly fantastic people into my life. And you gave me the opportunity to reminisce with the coveted phrase: “I lived in New York in my twenties.”
But it’s time for me to leave. To explore the rest of the country. To find the quintessential place I will be happy to raise my children. I mean, you didn’t expect me become one of those parents desperately dragging baby strollers up the already narrow subway stairs, did you?
Don’t worry; you’ll find plenty of other lemmings to pull into your web. God knows Hollywood is working overtime to brainwash the masses into believing you are a faultless wonderland of joy and opportunity. I’ve broken my daze, but there are plenty of younger me’s waiting eagerly across the river.
So, with a twinkle in my eye and a mischevious grin, I say goodbye and good luck.
~Evan
