buckybarnzoi replied to your post “the funny thing about living in a shitty tenement building like i do…”
is it really hard living in nyc?? i used to want to live there but plans have changed to accommodate my massive fuckin dog. i’d still like to live there at some point for some amount of time tho
Is it really hard living in NYC? That’s a tough question.
I think of living in New York as a labor of love. If you’re like me then you never have enough money, but you spend money any way. You live a mile from the train, in a shitty building with a cast of characters who wouldn’t be out of place in a psyche ward or a sitcom.
Maybe you have a full time job which pays well but still not enough. Maybe you have like, 4 jobs and make enough but have no free time. You realize that living in New York City is about cultural capital, not comfort, and you promise yourself that you’ll take advantage of all the wonderful museums, and films, and music available to you, but still end up going to a bar after work instead.
The city smells; your apartment is too hot, or it’s too cold. You swear that if the toilet water freezes you are going to call 311 and you make a pact with your neighbors to do the same. Your neighborhood has block parties, loud ones. Sometimes there are guys at the Bodega at 8am and they’ve been there since 4am, and no you do not want a heineken on the way to the bus.
Ugh, buses and subways. The L train! The G train! The 4-5-6.Trains. The commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan is the worst part of your day, because who lives in Manhattan, I mean really? But… Bed bugs. Stray cats yowling. Dead pigeons. Diners. Dog runs. Grocery shopping. All of that, too.
Sometimes, tho, a snowstorm stops the whole city in its tracks and everyone has a moment of wonder and you drag your christmas tree home in four inches of fresh powder the second week of December and the air smells like magic and you never want to leave. Or you get on the subway at 4 am, and there’s an impromptu band of strangers with their instruments playing together, so you ride four extra stops just to keep the fever dream going. Another time you watch the fourth of July fireworks with a patchwork gang of strangers on a rooftop eight apartments from yours and no one blinks, no one cares. Everyone drinks the margaritas that someone’s aunt’s cousin made.
Every so often, the city smells like honeysuckle and the air is warm and your feet don’t hurt and the collective mood is kind and calm. That’s when it’s love and not labor. But usually it’s both.
So um. That’s how I feel about New York.