b AT t's and some memories

New York has produced in me a quality that wants, no needs, to reach out and grab hold of every moment of sincere human interaction. Capote's Breakast at Tiffany's reminds me of the outrageous lengths we go to to protect our private selves, yet we are all under the endless scrutiny of those around us whether we like it or not. And in a city that has a habit of passive-aggressive observation (just ride the subway for a lesson in this) it has become more and more important for me to assert a strong sense of who I am an where I'm going. New York won't be able to write me down in its book of the aloof.