Garrison Keillor takes a walk

Up to 43rd and Seventh Avenue, the heart of the National Neon & Billboard Scenic Area, dazzling even in afternoon light, snatches of Japanese and Norwegian and French in the passing crowd, and upturned children’s faces, their parents steering them along, parents who seem dazed themselves. These are lifelong motorists from the Midwest, come to New York and put on foot, and of course they are wary. If you’re used to being wrapped in two tons of steel, you feel naked without it. Anybody could walk up and poke you, anybody at all. You wait to be poked.

— Garrison Keillor

I've never been poked, per se, although some guy once grabbed me at the bus stop in lieu of falling over and I did almost step on a dead rat this morning whilst crossing the street to get to the bank. Things are gross here when it thaws, which is why you need to keep one vulture eye open at all times, like that owner of the Tell-Tale Heart.

See also: Why New York should host every Super Bowl (please god no), and counterpoint.