I 😔 New York. Not the heart. The face you make on a stalled F train at 11:47pm when the guy next to you starts eating a full rotisserie chicken with his hands. That's the emoji. That's the state.
Look, we love it here, which is exactly the problem. You pay $3,400 a month for a room with a window facing a brick wall, you tip $9 on a $14 sandwich, you watch the Jets find a brand new way to lose in Week 3, and then it snows sideways in April. The Knicks break your heart annually. Someone's always renovating above you at 7am. And yet you'd fight anyone who talked trash about this place. Depressed and loyal. Very New York.
Cut soft, built to survive the commute, and comfortable enough to wear from your apartment to the bodega to the bar and back without ever unclenching your jaw. Holds its shape, holds its color, holds you together on a Tuesday.
