It’s not just that I got my photo taken at the corner of Bleeker and Broadway. It’s not just watching artwork featuring Michael Jackson at the P.S.1 hours before news of his death broke. It’s not just rolling into town on planes and trains and buses and finding it beautifully unchanged in its chaos. It’s not just all of those beautiful, strange people hanging around in Williamsburg.
It’s all of that and the louche feeling, the snarls and snaps of emotion come rain or shine, the sense of it all being true, but bigger and bigger and bigger.
It’s wandering around Brooklyn, or Manhattan, alone and not, thinking about how best to spend time and change, with coffees and notebooks, staring at the sun/sheltered from the rain, moving – always moving – and thinking about how best to change the world.
You can feel invincible in New York, and when I want to remind myself of that I play The New Pornographers… or I find an excuse to go there.