She came to the city because she still believed in new beginnings. All those tall granite slabs testifying to the accomplishments of mankind, the bright frenetic taillights and calmer eyes of skyscrapers, and all those millions of people, they must be there for a reason, and someone, out of all them, must lead the way into something better. But beginnings are never new, we always carry a residue.
What she really wanted was an escape. She wanted an escape from the cold bars of her own consciousness in the most conventional way, in a way that her parents will still continue to be proud.
Her parents had saved newspaper clippings of spelling bees, and pressed pictures of her homecoming with Tom and John and Timmy, her corsage smiling with red red lips. She has always said thank you to strangers, a passing courtesy, so that you think that others will think well of you. The city was a chance for a new beginning.
The city is full of distractions, where you can pretend that the stranger's working class grimace is an American hero's hearty grin. Where a prostitute's fishnets are a glamour girl's ballgown. There are so many bars with men wanting to buy you drinks. Each suitor has their own racket. Manhattan with the banker. Scotch with the doctor. Mojito with the construction worker. A racket with so much bang, like cymbals, or the crash of metal trash can lids.
Idealism blooms in the heart of a small town girl's big city.
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