When I was younger I l-o-n-g-e-d to live in Manhattan.
How can I get there? Who do I have to kill? Where will I live? Can I have a penthouse, please?
Well, I got there, for a while, and I didn’t like it: too big, too impersonal, too expensive, blahblahblah, and I returned home, to Ohio, to live another day… and visit now and again.
These ‘visits’ have been going on for decades.
I’ve had myself an entire Prada bag full of good times- because I had the moola to afford them- not because anything about Manhattan has changed- unless you go off-island…
… to Brooklyn. Oh my.
And my son. He lives there. In a penthouse.
‘Cause someone’s got to.