The sun shone brightly on Brooklyn rooftops and cold beer bottles, and before long, it was too late to bother with trains; I slept soundly by newly painted white walls. When I finally made my way to Marcy Ave, the rain was sloshing through borrowed sandals, and it felt like fall.
On a dreary, dirty street in Midtown, in a quiet Korean restaurant, I cured my hangover with kimchi and little sips of soju, while that same question wafted around the room. But if you have all that over there, all those people, that whole life, why are you here? What is it about New York that you love so much?
I didn't have an answer for him, but it didn't matter. I walked down the soaked Manhattan streets, and in my heart, those soaked, gray, busy streets were all the reassurance I needed.
Even the rain, didn't seem so bad then.
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