Some days you think, “I’d like to pay a lot of money to live in a small room and hear jackhammers all day,” so you book a flight to New York for a visit. I got a cheap room in a hotel last renovated when Madonna was shocking for reasons other than plastic surgery, and braced myself for the dystopian NYC you see on social media.
But no! The city looked good. Granted, I was staying in Midtown, during the holidays; the city was packed with tourists on good behavior. I saw one (1) rat the size of a pro wrestler’s forearm, scuttling between trash bags, carrying half a hot dog. It had a smear of ketchup, so he was probably an out-of-towner. Real New York rats only use mustard.
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