The most important thing about New York City was sleeping in my car. I had to sleep in my car because I got back to my brother’s apartment at three in the morning with no keys, called him fifteen times, realized that he wasn’t waking up to let me in, and resigned myself to my fate. It was cold. It was cramped. It was uncomfortable. I woke up repeatedly from the cold, the cramps, and the discomfort. At seven I went and got coffee, called again, and was let inside, where I slept for two hours on a couch.
Then I spent the rest of that day recovering from a hangover.
Another thing: New York City is expensive. It’s expensive and you can’t figure out what happened to all of your money. Oh, sure, there’s the cigarettes, and there’s the drinks at bars; but after driving across the country for a week, you’ll be amazed to discover that you’ve spent more money in New York City than you have during all the legs of the rest of your trip combined.
That is all.
Oh. And I’ll be back. To, you know, live and shit.