A vignette by K.M.

I felt the energy of the night so intense it broke me down to a sobbing cry … New York City can do that to a person … Elton John told us to turn around and say good morning to the night … and that’s how Manhattan is … mornings turn quickly into nights … nights turn quietly into mornings … and now I have to leave … my morning has arrived.

The vigor of New York will turn a writer into a novelist carving their stories into novellas not praised for the beauty and flow of words but for the size of the tales inked from near eternal nights and carried into the early light.

Is it the brain or the heart that allows us to love … can you love a city in the same passionate way you do a new lover. As the metropolis ingests it’s devoted practitioners fueling its subways and taxis and eateries … the brain and its autocratic function wrangles the heart for every last drop of the city’s stimulus.

The solemn morning begins to illuminate over a different horizon. I close my eyes and let the warmth of the fresh sun set an ember to my imagination.