New York is my kind of thing. Waiting in line for street meat at midnight, wandering dark streets in search of noodles at 10 pm and chili dogs at 10 am. The smell of a man in expensive cologne closely followed by the smell of rotten garbage. Leaving a broadway show with a celebrity cast to find a big fat rat perched a top a fire hydrant. Elevator doors opening with clowns inside and elevator doors closing with you surrounded by no one that speaks English. Male models serving you drinks from trade show booths an older Italian woman yelling “IT’S NOT A GOOD DAY UNLESS YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN YOUR MOUTH!” as you pass by her shop on the street.
The city exhausts me, to my bones. It is a whole new exhilarating brand of tired. And I love it. This was my fourth time going to New York City and my first time going to Chelsea Market. If I were to be reincarnated as a place on this planet, may it be Chelsea Market and may I come back without a gluten allergy.