I haven’t the foggiest fucking clue who Emmy Collins is (maybe she’s incidental?), but as far as I’m concerned, being in NYC means being in the epicenter of everything that matters. It means art, culture, music, literature and intellectual insight seemingly lost on the other 49 states (to say nothing of the rest of New York state). It means hard-as-nails emotional candor, and a heat that beckons you out of the goddamn kitchen if you can’t handle it. It is an island nation unto itself. It’s a hive of possibility, tolerance, reinvention and forward thinking that formerly owed precious fuck-all to its mainland. Being in NYC means being able to find anything you could possibly want, if you’re savvy enough to know where to look. Or it used to mean all those things.
The fact that it merely means access to yet another build-your-own salad chain to someone makes me vibrate with contempt.
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