– an onion bagel that is so perfect you don’t even need to toast it (the store declined to do so), slathered in several ounces of vegetable and jalapeno cream cheese, and a frothy barely sweet machiato – and I feel “felice como una pascua”. That’s Italian for Happy as Easter, don’t ask me what that really means, just know that it’s how I feel.
New York. Everyone smiles at me here, from. I smile at everyone. I talk to strangers always even if they are hoboes. (And anyone who tells you that New York is rude or unfriendly is probably projecting his own skulk). I don’t need my kindle or a smartphone when I’m out alone. The city is my date. Or that friend I’ve known for so long that when we meet, it’s like we had never been apart.
I have never told you just how much I love new york. How could I? I don’t know how to express the spring in my step in words, nor the happy glint in my eyes nor the knowing swagger I have walking in Times Square that separates me from the tourists. This is my city.