There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last--the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion.
On October 31, 2011 a girl was dangling off the edge of the GW bridge. Several cop cars showed up a few minutes later after several 911 calls. Asked what she was doing, she said: “Enjoying life.” Strangely poetic that one person’s enjoyment of life can appear to so many as a desire for death.
via humansofnewyork
visiting next month, and then probably the time after that it’s permanent. ever wanted to die, pee, and vomit at the same time?
via sea-chelle
Asking random New Yorkers with headphones on what song they’re listening to..
(Source: livejamie)
via sea-chelle
