I am a Southerner in the City, an aging debutante, a small town girl cursed with big city aspirations. My grandfather says that I’m at the cusp of feminine failure—I’m as old as a bottle of prime Tennessee whiskey (aged 25 years) and still single. I need to “get on home” and find a nice Southern boy—a doctor, maybe an insurance salesman. At this, I dig in my heels and set out to date every inappropriate man in Manhattan…
Friday, February 10, 2006
Third World Metropolis
The city was changing me... At some point, I began to believe in extreme wealth or extreme poverty. It was as if New York were a third world country complicit in its own military dictatorship. While people were ambitious, they accepted their fate in the hierarchy just so they could watch the truly rich make fools of themselves in the "Post"…God, where was my place?
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