9th November 2009.
I wanted it to be miserable but New York had never looked so good, at least to me. Light covers the city. Warm eternal light. All around is lingering beauty.- falling leaves, autumn breeze, and New York dresses on New York hips strutting proudly through the city. A farewell march, their swansong, one last seductive swagger before being banished to the closet for winter. So long sweetheart, I’ll miss you. A man crosses Smith Street smiling. Warmly, gloriously, dementedly and with drool sticking to his chin. He’s happy. And I don’t blame him. Today is a beautiful day.
The taxi heads down Flatbush, windows open. Like the parting drinks, loved ones’ dinners and final stoop side cigarettes, I’m trying to savour the taste before getting to that plane. JFK is minutes away, London, hours. But I’m not going home. I think I’m leaving it.
London seems foreign. A foreign capital of a foreign country of foreign values. New York made me. Time to leave.
“C’mon folks, pick a line” says the well-dressed moustache to the passport-clutching mass before him, “It’s New York, don’t be shy.” Yes. Don’t be shy. Be bold. Remove all fear and doubt. Be you. But stronger than the you first thought you could be. Go forth. Succeed. Succeed, I said. Or fail. But fail spectacularly Goddamnit! Kicking and scratching your whole way down. C’mon. Let’s go Yankees. Fuck the Yankees. All of it. It’s all New York. And I’ll take it to go. With me. Wherever that may be.
Welcome aboard Sean. Hello. You’re small, Sean, even for a two-year-old, but I have a feeling you’re a loud one. You’re a screamer, aren’t you Sean? I can tell by the way your screaming in my ear. It’s okay. Let it out buddy. I may even join you.
Wake up, we’ve landed.
Forgotten sights, a cold grey dawn. Forgotton smells, spilled milk on the inside of a Vauxhall Corsa. Welcome back.