New York City

There is a pulse that beats. A noisy, grimy, endless scratching on the surface. Steel, bricks, concrete, worn and tarnished. Even the most polished dapper has a certain grit about him. An intersection of rats and humans and trash and objects waiting to be consumed. A life that keeps moving regardless. Is it comforting to know that everyone is just trying to stay afloat? Each time I come back, I think I might know the city a little better. I don't and there's the appeal of New York. It sucks you in and spits you right back out.