Like a Fine Wine?

I've discovered that New York has a habit of making up for its sins against you, though in its own New York way. Recent experiences:


I HATE NEW YORK...: While at a treacherous crosswalk by my office, the "walk" sign turns on. Me and some older guy start to walk across when the old guy suddenly holds out his hand to stop me. A ritzy car has pulled out from BEHIND CARS STOPPED AT THE RED LIGHT and proceeded to RUN THE RED LIGHT WHILE TRYING TO KILL ME. I make an ineffective show of exasperation towards the driver.

...BUT I LOVE NEW YORK, I THINK: The old guy flicks off the driver and says in a thick, local accent, "That fucking scumbag. I hope he fucking dies on the way home." The old man may or may not have had a full complement of teeth.



I HATE NEW YORK...: I was walking to an appointment with my landlord the other day when I noticed a bug had landed on my suit. I try brush it off when I discover that it is not a bug but is, instead, bird poop. Bird poop on my suit. I touched bird poop with my hand.

...BUT I LOVE NEW YORK, I THINK: At the appointment, I got to shake my landlord's hand with the hand that touched the bird poop.