New York, New York

New York and I have this understanding. A pact or even better, a pinky promise. It goes like this: as long as I keep admiring her, she’ll keep me safe. If I don’t look for her dark allies or rats, then she won’t show them to me. Sure, it might make me naive, oblivious, perhaps ignorant.

But hey, it’s what works for us.

If nothing else, she surely has me wrapped around her finger.