NYC in 200 words

The city that never sleeps lingers a lifetime for those who have inhabited her insomniac hours.
The Subway cars, the street vendors, and melting snow mud puddles running down garbage lined gutters.
Fire escapes and rooftop dwellings where the darkest moments before dawn tell the most secrets to ambitious ears.
Fifteen minutes to anywhere and anything the heart desires,
a curious eye can watch the city breathe smoke and steam from somewhere down below.
Near Broadway, Times Square, Grand Central and all along the five Burroughs a writer can find a story with every crack in the pavement and every beat of a breaking heart.
Lincoln, MacArthur, or Central park will always be cheap entertainment.
They are filled with jugglers, actors, and musicians banging out drum circles of destiny.
Dirt, grime, and uncleanliness meet a godless equality of purity in the falling color of leaves as horse drawn chariots whisk the wealthy around like generations long turned to dust.
Television shall disappear as a lifestyle choice and the sitcoms are near the eyes in living color across the street at the bodega.
Drunken hours lost in the city, cabbies, and vacant stares as the ants march swiftly to work.
An afternoon train car provides a nap for the weary soul to travel to White Plains for cheap cigarettes.
Oh city that never sleeps, I miss you.


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