Victor Kerlow Dear Diary:
New York, you’ve let me down.
New York, it’s you this time, not me. I know I’ve left before, but I was young and foolish then and this time I won’t be back again.
New York, I break with thee, I break with thee, I break with thee.
New York, when I was young and foolish and you were young and foolish I bought weed on street corners and smoked it in alleys and drank beers in Washington Square Park and slept on the train back to Long Island and woke up in the wrong stations. I listened to Springsteen and flirted with girls in their summer clothes in your parks.
New York, I smoked Camel cigarettes in bars when I was 17 because I was 17 and in bars and because you let me. Now I can’t even buy a soda. You were wild and scary back then, New York, but no one squeegees my windows or shows me their breasts when I drive through your tunnels now. It’s been years since I was mugged. New York, I miss your transit maps that no one could decipher or refold and your random trains that came when they wanted. Once I took a 7 to Shea and ended up in Alphabet City. That mystery is gone but I know that’s not your fault, New York. There’s an app for that now.
Let’s face it, New York. It wasn’t all good. Someone stole my car once and you made a hero out of Bernie Goetz and you let the Dodgers leave and the Giants, and the Giants and the Jets, but I forgave you. You killed John Lennon and I said that I forgave you but in the bottom of my heart I knew. I just knew. New York, the bottom line is that the Bottom Line is not the Bottom Line anymore and Fillmore is a bank and Harlem has a Target and there’s a Kmart in the Village. Who is your Jim Carroll now, New York?
New York, I didn’t come here for ice cream or cafe latte or bike lanes. New York, you’ve lost your soul. I lost mine too, I know. It’s true. I lied about the bike lanes but you’ve changed and I can’t be true to you and still be true to you.
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