New York Fucking City


We were gobsmacked. Two priviledged, well educated, well protected, and well read girls from

the suburbs of Vancouver were finally soundless. As our illusive, addled cabbie slowed down toward a

red light in what now seemed like our final inches of innocence in a tunnel underneath the Hudson,

we saw the glow ahead.


The lights turned on, but it was somehow darker. My undefiled eyes adjusted to the flamingo pink

irradiated welcome mat in the sky.

‘Pom Pom Diner’.

The insignia for overpriced, graceless, ‘Freedom’ fries, and all things big

city were now emblazoned in my brain and would forever be associated with the year 2004.

50 Shades of Grey

The opulent display of plumbiferous skyscrapers that rooted out of the pavement beyond the neon

welcome sign, were my form of the mom-porn of today. These silver, art deco, symbols of steel and

money and the American way were singing to me a song of reception I had only known from watching

reruns of Sex and the City, or that old King Kong movie. These monoliths of sand and structure were never

alone, in fact one could barely, it seemed, throw a pebble between them. They portrayed a stage

of dominoes absolutely dependent on their neighbour for support. What a display of brotherly love.

And they kissed the sky.

They soared. We looked like a two pronged fork melded together by our taxi seat. Her

head cranked outside the left window and mine to the right. This was the only way to see the sheer

magnificence of their height. These creatures of wealth were born of Gods. There was no other

explanation. They were the Rocky Mountains of the isle of Manhattan, so pure, so simple, and yet so lirresolute.

The light turned green.

And New York invaded our soul.

New York Fucking City