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About New York City

Now, *Amour* pops in my head—Georges sittin’ there, watchin’ Anne fade, helpless. “I can’t go on,” he says, suffocatin’ her with that pillow. Heavy stuff. And here I am, hagglin’ with this gal, thinkin’—is this what it comes to? Payin’ for a pulse? She’s tellin’ me her rate, and I’m pissed—$200 for an hour? Robbery! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I could buy a damn Timex for that!” She laughs, says, “Time’s tickin’, old man.” Cheeky, I like her already.

The time of the Libertines

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Listen, I might type fast and err here, but trust me, this town’s got soul. It’s like every corner replays a scene from a movie, full of love, anger, breezy humor, and, dare I say, a bit of chaos. It makes me happy, sometimes makes me mad, but always leaves me inspired.

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