Everyone I know who is not from here mention wanting to "take a break from chaos" when they go on vacation. And usually when they are saying, they're at the break point, reeling from the latest power outage or police scandal.
Just this month, my friend got pushed through a glass window, I got into a laughable fender bender where the woman is trying to squeeze me with an injury claim, and it took me a week to retrieve my parcel of pasta and Wheatables from the post office.
Add that to what I've soaked up since my last trip to NY six months ago, and I can feel the chaos clamping down: I assume the owner of the bar I'm sitting in is laundering money, someone's body was just peeled from the street I'm driving on, and the fat man in the suit who just passed me is working for BP and about to go back to his hotel room to have a prostitute delivered from Bourbon, drink himself stupid, or kill his wife.
Then my girlfriend and I take a morning stroll to the neighborhood bakery, where they're playing Dylan as two stylish gay boys flirt and some well-groomed lesbians pick up their scones.
We felt hot and left with our coffees in plastic cups.
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