In New York you can’t even see the stars. And not only do you feel like hot shit because of all the big things going on around you, the city itself makes you feel literally large, like you’re living in a filthy dollhouse. Your feet hang off your too-small bed. Tourists and brown nannies with white babies are constantly in the way of your giant steps, keeping you from getting to all the great readings and gallery openings you need to attend (often it seems as if New York has no parties, only “events”). On a nice day, even massive places like Central Park can feel downright claustrophobic, cluttered with Frisbees, joggers, and more nannies. In your home, your concept of “alone” changes, as even while naked and masturbating in the shower, you can hear people fighting, cooking, crying, watching Maury, playing guitar, fucking.
I feel this. So hard.