When I was younger, I used to parrot that so-clever mantra among New Yorkers: the only thing better than leaving the city is coming back. And it was true, mostly. Right now, though, Leaving has leapt to No.1 on the charts, and Coming Back is down near the bottom, just ahead of Arguing With Verizon.
We've been back since Saturday, but it's taken this long to park my arse behind a keyboard and write about it because I've been grumpy. Re-entry has been hard. After two weeks of beach towels by day and blankets at night, everything here seems really close. The neighbors, the grocery shelves, the air. Just over 1.6 million of us are crammed onto this oblong rock, and thanks to this bedbug epidemic, we've all claimed a few square feet of territory and crouched down, arms outstretched, screaming BACDAFUCUP! to anyone who comes near us.
I need a vacation from this hangover from my vacation.
