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I’m This Close to Being an Agoraphobe
And New York City, you are not helping!
Within approximately forty-five minutes of moving to this city everyone makes the same discovery: Do not go to Times Square. Period.
And yet we all eventually do go there.
More than once.
Go figure.
The problem with that part of town — aside from the obvious — is that it really is the crossroads of the city (but not the world, get over yourself, NYC). This sad fact means that there are entirely too many times when getting from Point A to Point B requires traversing that neon-and-tourist encrusted part of town. So there I was the other night. Back in Times Square. At night. When the weather was good enough to ensure maximum insanity.
As bad as navigating streets clogged with panhandlers, giggling clots of teens, and oblivious out-of-towners is, it’s often the gawd-awful eight-story tall advertisements with the carbon footprint of six Butte, Montanas that make me nauseous.
There they were, hovering over the chaos like goddesses: The Kardashians.
I’ll bite.
Who TF are The Kardashians? I mean, yes, even I see breathless bits and bobs of “news” about these people in my peripheral vision all the time. They’re famous…
