28 January 2016
It is just past one o’clock in the morning in New York. The building that I’m in – my apartment building – creaks and moans. I am lying in my sleeping bag on top of my camping mat. My unpacked suitcase is beside me, spilling its once so neatly folded contents out onto the shining hardwood floors. From my vantage point, I can see the moon, hazy and half-hidden behind translucent clouds. Sirens blare as ambulances and fire trucks whizz by. The orange glow of a street lamp casts shadows and silhouettes onto the bare walls of my new room. A snow shovel scrapes achingly loud outside.
And then, for just the briefest moment, everything is silent, still, dark.
A man yells and a bottle breaks. The silence is broken and the world comes alive once again.
Welcome to New York, It seems to say in all of its raucous clamour, We hope you enjoy your stay.
The only problem is that I think it was being sarcastic.