The satisfaction of living in Manhattan has as much to do with being able to readily escape all the madness as it does with being a part of it.

Like many other days, I’m holed up in my apartment writing, and hearing all the commotion outside on the streets; today it’s some most likely steroid pumping macho guys yelling, trying to out-man each other, another day it might be drunk kids on friday and saturday nights, or weekday afternoons it’s little kids screaming like dinosaurs on their way out of school (the first few times I heard this I had to run to my window to make sure someone wasn’t being abused), and all of the above is a constant reminder that the city is there when I need it (or when it needs me), but still, there are walls and stories that separate me from it whenever I need some breathing room.

If only relationships with people could be this healthy and balanced.