“The city is loveliest when the sweet death racket begins. Her own life lived in defiance of nature, her electricity… her soundproof walls, the glint of lacquered nails, the plumes that wave across the corrugated sky. Here in the coffin depths grow the everlasting flowers sent by telegraph.”
Lost in New York – Rapture just a door slam from hysteria.
Introspective reverie just a cab ride from hollow-eyed dementia.
Keep your chin up, but watch your step.
Watch where you’re going, but don’t make eye-contact.
Street smart and sidewalk stupid.
You get the picture.
But, maybe E.B. White put it best:
No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky