A night in the city of dreams
New York City, some call it the city of dreams but I disagree.
Most of the woman in the world have come here to make it big and yet I found myself twenty-nine years old, smoking and stumbling down the loud streets of Manhattan where every light was blindingly bright and every couple were shoved in your face like flies to shit. Me being the shit.
The only relationship I had formed over the last few years of living here were with Mr cigarette, he never failed to satisfy my needs. I watched as the smoke lifted and bathed in the glow of fast food restaurant signs but it wasn’t before long that the thick, deadly and addictive out let of my slightly damaged lungs disappeared into a starless nights sky.
I often felt like smoke, apparent at first but quickly fades into the background, forever being only something made by other people. It was now more than ever that I yearned for the love of another human being, the love of a man.
I wanted that young alpha male I saw in catalogues day after day, the man who’s body was that of a Greek god and who could please me in every way possible. This man I wanted could be seen every day but never obtained - He was the guy with his arm around the woman you hated or the man who you thought looked twice but it turns out his girlfriend was stood behind you. I knew now why people called this place the city of dreams, because all that there is to do here is dream.
I knew that the only way that myself, the twenty-odd year old something with a bad habit and no money, could obtain such a guy was by a one night stand. The classic, New York fashioned, one night stand.