My god I miss New York City. Yes, I’m writing this from my apartment in Brooklyn. But I miss The City. The subway. The millions of tiny communities you find yourself in at any moment. The time a drunk girl fell asleep on my shoulder on t J and woke up to tell you that you’re the

nicest person she’d ever met. The time a man got a text and started sobbing while sitting next to me on the L and when I asked him if he was okay, he cracked a giant smile and said, “I’m going to be an uncle!” Buying strawberries at the farmer’s market and sitting on the steps

of union square to eat them. The Hare Krishnas in their orange gear. Running into someone I know but haven’t seen for years on a random corner of 5th Avenue in the 20s. Getting mad the train is late. My favorite cafe where the barista never charged me and I always dropped a

ten spot into the tip jar instead. Knowing the best places to hang out to smoke a bowl inconspicuously. Walking from park to park to park to park on a sunny afternoon. Hiding under a scaffolding with fifty other people in a summer cloudburst. Going through neighborhoods I haven’t

been to in years and yelling over how the neighborhood has changed - “what the fuck? High rises in Long Island City? None of this was here when I was in high school.” Studiously avoiding certain blocks where an ex works. Running out of that favorite cafe because you spotted the

old boss sitting next to the counter and uoi do *not* want to talk to her. The constellation of people. The neighborhood regulars and the daily tide. Never going to Times Square. Theater, or the possibility of going to the theater even though I’m not going. Meeting a new friend

for gluten free bagels in a neighborhood where neither of you live. Feeling guilty that Bronx-dwelling friend is traveling all that way on the train to come see you in Brooklyn because living in different boroughs is a long-distance friendship. Those pockets of neighborhoods

that were deeply significant at one point in your life but no more, and the current of memories permanently ebbing and flowing within those city blocks; change what may, there you once lived, there you once breathed and became a part of this place’s story. One day, this to will

be a part of this place’s story - you will look, marked out on a map, You Are Here.