Is New York darker, or is that just the smog?

As I walked through Penn Station towards the uptown 1 train, shedding my southern drawl for a more comfortable NY hurried pace, the soundtrack of classical music being pumped in creating the usual surreal landscape as what I hear clashes violently with the trash, sleeping bums, and broken tile my eyes observe, I am welcomed as always by an intangible darkness, fighting it's way into my being and expunging the flowering-tree lined streets with sunny sidewalks of a place where I could be in the house that I owned, kissing my babies goodnight. In the crowded train, next to men arguing loudly accompanied by JT's "What Goes Around" busting someone's eardrums, instead of the cool leather interior of my once owned 1999 Volcano Ash Audi A4, radio tuned to the country station, I rode, balancing my luggage bulging of my newly cleaned clothes and Accent On Achievement Beginning Band Conductor's Book. I passed friends on the street just below Toast-Sorry I couldn't make your gig tonight, train was late-Amtrak?-That's the one- before entering my building to ascend my Mt. Everest. Victory is the 6th floor but oh no, there's pissy cat hanging out on our travel gnome welcome mat (he better not spray again because my bedroom still smells like tom cat domination wars). My roommates greet me nervously; the Luke's Diner Shelf holding my precious coffee mugs fell breaking my brand new tea pot and favorite Easter mug, a reminder of the Manor House Days. Don't worry, we'll replace it-No worries, it's cool. Damn walls, too thin- won't hold anything.

...

Sorry Dad, I'm not moving home anytime soon. But thanks for always leaving the door unlocked.