Any New Yorker anywhere will refer to Manhattan as The City. Capitalized. Because really, what other city is there? This, of course, infuriates many non-natives who are jealous that they were not lucky enough to be born in a place that's on the map.
Somehow, it still caught me by surprise at how much New Yorkers simply adore the City. It's evident in the cliched-yet-beloved I(heart)NY tee shirts, self-proclaimed accolades, and Yankee Stadium-style lawn manicures. It's a love free of self-consciousness, as everyone else shares this fascination.
What surprises me more (somehow) is that I feel the same way. I had no idea how much I had missed New York until I came back. I have told my father, excitedly, in the past week that 1) a Mister Softee truck has a route through our development, and 2) there is a roach coach that sells egg creams. Honest to God, egg creams! I must be in New York! (He, a Washington Heights native, is filled with joy that his first born has returned home.)
Indeed I have.
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