Wake in a daze, thick layers of clothing but the radiator came on and steam runs in rivulets down your windows: don't come to New York if you're not interested in suffering. Stay in bed for hours before braving the snow, it looks nothing like the white sands of Venice, but you have no regrets. This is your home, this is real. Your shoulders are still brown. Your dreams are yours to own.
A new year beams on the horizon. It's asking you for everything.
And you have everything to give.
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