A little New York goes a long, long way. For the first three months I lived there, I would pick up a bottle of Snapple and a pint of vodka every time I headed to the subway into Manhattan. I attended amazing art shows the likes of which I'll probably never experience elsewhere, but you know what is occasionally better than art and panic attacks? Trees, clean air, and not paying $1600 for a cramped apartment that is contantly robbed by the building's Puerto Rican repairman even though you babysat his fucking kids on multiple occasions and brought him a pillow and a god damn beer when his wife beat him up and kicked him out of their house, forcing him to sleep in the basement stairwell.

Prick.