In a real sense I was hurtling towards the most intense City on Earth. In another, I was throwing myself into the abyss. Never mind sky-diving in Mississippi. I was hurling myself into the platonic form for City. Shoving my head in the Jaws of Moloch. Visiting the very archetype of City. While the car rocked side to side as if in rhythm to some fogotten children's chant, I felt and understood something.
I was visiting New York for deeper reasons than I liked to admit. I read somewhere on a book jacket that the themes of Manhattan were "Sex, Power and Culture." No. The plots of Manhattan might be these. The Motivations. Or the Characters. Combinations of these. Powerful Boy meets Cultured Girl and they have Sex. Or they dont have sex anymore they just dance. Or Power and Culture dont know each others gender, but they have sex anyway. One of them gives birth to Desire. Shot to death by gangs of Children(Dream Mix?) denied Pleasure.
Universal but not all-encompassing, the themes of Manhattan transcend all of these. The peasant at this point can't articulate theme. I was talking about motive. I was going to Manhattan because of job opportuinities. Getting paid a ransom to hack the Internet all day in the world's leading New Media city. I was going to Manhattan because of beautiful Asian women cascading down Broadway like one of Natures purest waterfalls. I was going to Manhattan because I could disappear into the East Village 100 different ways. Disappear into cadres of punk squatters with a spectrum of hair colors and styles all dressed in olive drab fatigues. (looked like the army surplus truck collided with the tropical bird truck.)
Disappear into streets where the horny smell of fresh sushi lingered like the nagging ache in my groin. Where the names of available drugs sounded like the band list at a New Music convention.