It just so happens that I happened to visit NYC on a weekend with the most PERFECT WEATHER EVER, like air that you cannot even sense, not too hot, not too cold, a gentle breeze moving pizza into your face, in a good way. So I spent the last four days wandering all over the dang place, stopping and remembering what once was, nodding at what’s still there. I felt like telling people what their store used to be, how much my metro card used to cost, that’s where I used to get my tomatoes, that one time that I wrestled my friend in the street in front of that bar. I felt like an old woman who knew everything about what once was but that no one wanted to listen to. I felt back in love with the place: the fact thousands of people are just out and also wandering, or moving fast, and I get to look at them all, and I love to look at people, the way their pants hang, to guess what’s in their heads. The fact that here, everything private becomes public. Every corner is a tiny stage where a break up is happening. But my biggest love: the city’s sense of resilience. A few months ago, this beloved gourmet fry joint was destroyed in a tragic gas explosion. AND IT’S ALREADY COMING BACK.

Take THAT, faulty pipes, chance and tragedy and french fries and fate. New york OUT.