I lied. This actually has words.
But only enough to tell you how much I adore Manhattan
and its rooftop bars
at which I am given a red hooded robe, hot rum apple cider, and coffee with Bailey’s (thank you, 230 Fifth).
And traipsing through Central Park, obviously.
Where I was jealous of every single runner passing me. Why can’t I take my runs through The Big Apple?
Or sit on one of those benches on a daily basis like Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, and Miranda?
And look at those lights all year round
And play in a Bulgarian ice cage regularly?
I’ll just leave you to try to figure that one out.
In the meantime, I’ll be staring longingly at NYC magazine job listings. Someone hold me back.