For me, New York is not a siren song, but still I can appreciate the rowhomes and their steps, Central Park, Soho, the crowded streets and the quieter ones, the endless buzzy aliveness of it all. The subways with their station names inlaid in charming little tiles. Chinatown’s red lanterns and steaming tea. The rambling, unguarded intimacy of sleepover conversations with my best friend, just like when we were girls. Pigeons cooing on the window sill, eleven stories up. And when I leave again, lights on lights on lights, glittering in the night, through the airplane window, as far as the eye can see.