This post is filled with nostalgic emotions. And although, it looks like it is author’s memoir, but it is very generic as this is the story of most of us. Perfect Press for Reblog. Please read this.
I visited New York this weekend, for a short but multi-purpose trip back to my ancestral homeland. As many of you know, I spent the first 17 years of my life on Long Island, in a bustling yet somewhat brutal suburb of the great City itself.
New Yorkers are generally very proud of where they live, and remain proud of where they come from if they happen to move away. They retain their stereotypical attitude (which is, if anything, underplayed in the media) and their propensity for tailgating on the highway.
They can never eat a bagel or slice of pizza without loudly proclaiming its inferiority to the cuisine of their youth (it’s the water, don’t you know), and they will forever be shocked that businesses, restaurants, and public transportation options close before midnight in towns that approach life at a slower pace.
While I’m certainly guilty of maintaining some of these…
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