When I think of Miami I think blue, annoyingly happy acqua blue. When I think of NY I think black, sleek, slimming, deceiving and trendy black.
Fortunately my mother died. Don't get me wrong, I loved my mom, but mourning her has made me feel a little less out of place in this steel mass that houses assembly-line-always-wearing-black people. Suddenly I'm not asked why am I always in black shirts and, unlike Tati, no one has approached me asking me if I'm a tourist.
NY has no sidewalks, it has catwalks. Perfect people gliding by, no sounds coming out of them but still screaming fashion. Is it the way their heads seem to carry an imaginary book? Or is the way their arms barely sway? Who knows! I just know that doing the NY walk is impossible with the hips I have, but that hasn't stopped me from trying.