I used to be a big city kind of guy. Something about the allure of concrete high rises – all that sleek grit and noise – seemed inherently romantic. Especially for someone who spends most of his time writing out of his quiet little suburban stretch – not much out here save for strip malls and condensed housing. But the more I went, the more I found myself feeling swallowed up – enveloped by something much bigger than me the moment I’d step out from Penn Station. There’s this feeling – something that’s counteracted at least a little bit by my love for downtown gastropubs and quiet Japanese bars with ice cold mugs of Sapporo, but there nonetheless – of just…drowning.
Some people feed off that mass of collected energy buzzing around one giant space, but for some reason it just makes me feel a bit far off. I’m not quite sure why.
Bonus points for those of you who caught the little T.S. Eliot nod in there. You get extra credit.