Chapter 1
How did people find a way to breathe amidst all of this?
The air was thick with the unpleasant scent of trash, as litter blanketed the streets and sidewalks.
Giant plastic bags were spilling waste, while those passing by appeared completely unaware of the filth.
I couldn't even imagine how unbearable it must have been in the scorching heat of summer.
The homeless were confined in their shelters made of cardboard boxes, shivering from the cold. The city buzzed with noise: sirens wailing, cars honking, a cacophony of screams, laughter, music, dancing, and waves of people moving quickly as if to catch the last train.
I had already been jostled a hundred times, and taxis zoomed past pedestrians without slowing down. No one stopped to pay attention or show concern. The smell of street food blended with the stink of garbage and the myriad scents of the countless individuals filling the streets.
The people seemed to belong to entirely different realms. Men wore dresses and heels, while women wore suits, tattoos, piercings, and eclectic styles. Who were they? Where did they come from? It was chaos, yet it somehow felt exhilaratingly free.
“Where are we off to?” I asked V, trying to keep up and not get lost in the sea of bodies.
“To see the Christmas tree!” she exclaimed. Her enthusiasm was contagious.
I couldn't help but think back to our arrival in New York just a week prior, where we had spent three grueling hours at the airport and were overwhelmed by the crowd.
I'd never seen so many people crammed into such a confined space.
It was exhausting; traveling during the Christmas season was probably not the wisest choice, but V was eager to experience the festivities, and honestly, I was just as anxious to leave everything behind too.
Davide cried the entire journey to the airport, and so did we.
A couple in their mid-twenties picked us up in a massive Dodge Durango SUV. It felt like a tank, and the rumble of the engine startled me at first. They were friends of V, although I was still a bit unclear on how they knew each other—something about their parents being best friends.
Their names were Chiara and Carlo, and they lived in Brooklyn. I couldn't quite recall the specifics; I still needed to get acquainted with all the boroughs. I only knew that the subway ride to Times Square from their place was about 40 minutes.
The couple lived in a cramped one-bedroom apartment.
V and I were sleeping on a sofa bed in the living room, if you could even call it sleeping.
It was nearly impossible with a train roaring by every 15-20 minutes at night and every 5-10 during the day.
The sirens were so incessant that you could easily lose count.
The neighbors were even louder, yelling, dancing, blasting music, and cooking—what was that smell? A rotting cow? How did people endure this? How could I possibly get any sleep when the noise never ceased?
“Grab my hand!” V shouted from the crowd.
I nearly lost her in the throng; for a moment, Chiara and Carlo were nowhere to be seen.
Oh, and I nearly overlooked the way people spoke—it didn't sound like English.
I had studied the language for five years and watched countless films, but the way people conversed there seemed like a tangled mixture of half-formed words and mumbling.
V was pulling me through the crowd, and it felt like being at a concert—no, even worse. I swore that if I stopped, the crowd would sweep me away. I was worn out; we'd barely covered a few blocks, and I was ready to collapse. My head was spinning, and I couldn't even absorb the sights.
I tried to catch a glimpse of the tree, but people were shoving, taking photos, and blocking my view. I couldn't help but wonder if it was always like this, even at night. As they say, New York is the city that never sleeps.
The tree was stunning, just like in the movies, adorned with sparkling lights and those iconic angels.
“What do you think?” V asked. Her eyes were shining as if she was finally home.
“I think I have a lot to adjust to; it's overwhelming,” I replied. It was a lot to take in for one day, but I realized that in New York, the intensity never really felt like too much. We hopped on the subway, and in just ten minutes, we were transported to another realm.
The streets were teeming with young people, mostly our age, and lined with eateries on every corner. Grimy dive bars, diverse restaurants, live music venues, jazz clubs, nightclubs, fast food—so many entertainment options, all just a few steps away. It was utterly bonkers.
I gazed up at the apartments and wondered how anyone could live there. They must have been living rent-free; no one would willingly pay to exist in this constant frenzy.
Five minutes later, we stepped into a rundown building, and ascended to the third floor. It was filthy and reeked of something foul.
The apartment door swung open to reveal a studio smaller than my old room, packed with at least 30 people drinking, dancing, kissing, and who knows what else.
Despite the windows being wide open, the air felt stagnant. A tipsy guy approached me with two beers, and when Chiara whispered something to him, he switched to speaking Italian.
I knew the legal drinking age in the U.S. was twenty-one, which was probably why Chiara and Carlo had brought us there. I lost sight of V, only to find her moments later chatting with a girl who didn't quite look like a girl.
Suddenly, someone grabbed my waist and started dancing. It was another drunken guy. I pulled away, desperately needing a moment to breathe. I spotted the restroom with the door ajar, dashed inside, and closed it, trying to catch my breath. A voice startled me from behind.
“I'm almost done, but if you want to watch, I don't mind,” a guy said as he relieved himself. I bolted out of the restroom, fled to the fourth floor, and sat on the stairs to gather my thoughts. It was all too much, too fast, and too chaotic.
“Too loud for you?” another voice called from behind. Could there really be people everywhere? A girl, roughly my age, with curly red hair and a prominent nose ring, wearing knee-high black boots and a thin teal satin dress, approached me.
“Yeah, a bit loud,” I replied, attempting to calm my racing heart.
“You have an accent. Where are you from?” She sat down beside me, studying me like I was a rare specimen.
“Uh… Italy… I just arrived a week ago,” I said, and she erupted in applause as if I had just performed on stage.
“Oh, I adore Italy! I've never been, but I'm planning to go!” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious.
I found myself staring at her piercing, and she must have noticed. “Do you like it? I have another one here…” she said, sticking out her tongue to reveal another piercing, so close I thought she might lick my lips. I could smell her dinner. “You can touch it if you want,” she added, inching closer.
“No, thank you,” I replied, recoiling in horror.
“Violet, I'm leaving. Are you coming?” A guy emerged from the apartment, speaking to the girl next to me.
“I'm Violet, by the way,” she said with a smile as she grabbed her coat.
“Luna,” I mumbled, but by the time I introduced myself, they were already making their way downstairs.
I stayed for another ten minutes before deciding to check on V. I stepped back into the apartment and spotted her kissing that girl. Just like that. But I decided I wouldn't interrupt; she was experiencing something different, a moment of freedom that felt unattainable back home.
I decided to try my luck again, knocking on the restroom door.
When nobody answered, I opened it to find it empty.
I locked the door behind me and washed my hands—they felt sticky, as if I hadn't cleaned them in ages.
After using the restroom, I washed my hands again, wanting to stay longer, but the smell was off-putting, and someone was already knocking on the door.
I opened it, only to find V pulling my hand outside to the same spot where I had been sitting earlier.
“Did you see me?” she asked, practically glowing with joy.
“Uh… you mean the kiss?” I asked for clarification.
“Of course, the kiss, silly!” She laughed.
“Yeah, I saw that.”
“Her name is Madeline. She's twenty-two and lives a few blocks away with four roommates. And she likes me!” V explained, as if that was the pinnacle of her existence.
“I'm glad you're happy,” I replied sincerely.
“You should loosen up a bit too,” she said, shaking my shoulders playfully.
“You mean kiss random people?” I winced. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that,” I added. She momentarily grew serious, but then the smile returned.
“All I wanted to say was just have a beer, dance, and talk to people. We need friends and new connections. How do you think we find jobs? By asking around, don't you think so?”
“I suppose,” I said. I still needed time to adjust to this new reality and lifestyle. It seemed easier for her, but for me, it felt harder.
We returned to the apartment, and over the next few hours, we chatted with some people, though it was sometimes challenging, and when I didn't understand, I simply nodded and smiled while sipping my beer.
Around 2 AM, we started moving again, and I thought we were heading home, but instead, we ended up at a tiny taco place barely the size of a bathroom.
Yes, there was a line at 2 AM, and we waited patiently.
The appearance didn't match the quality of the food—it was absolutely delicious, one of the best things I had ever tasted.
By 3 AM, we wandered around with a random group of people I didn't even know.
At 4:30 AM, someone mentioned cappuccino, and we walked for thirty minutes to a 24-hour coffee shop.
I felt like a little lamb following a herd.
The atmosphere was quieter, and the air fresher and colder.
Actually, the coldest I had ever felt. It was beginning to brighten.
As I walked, all I could hope for was that the little lamb wouldn't be slaughtered by the City of Shadows that never sleeps.