Here at the NY Times, you can catch an interesting, albeit short interview with Bright Lights, Big City author Jay McInerney.
Published in 1984, Bright Lights, Big City, is a coming of age story, but whether it was 1979, or 1953, or 1931 (arbitrary dates), coming of age in New York City can't be compared to any other city.
I don't mean to suggest that other cities are unworthy, but rather that there is a uniqueness to walking the streets of the Apple that differs from walks in Paris, London, Boise, Santa Fe or Albany.
I remember looking up at skyscrapers, with those bright lights mesmerizing me well into my 20s.
I remember the night life in the Villages, East and West, with waves of highs and lows.
I can distinctly see the glowing colours on 42nd Street, Broadway, and steps that took you down, or the stairways that took you up to night-clubs, jazz joints and fine and seedy dining.
I can remember 6th Avenue's transformation to the Avenue of the Americas.
But unlike Jay McInerney I left on more than one occasion and although in my heart I know it's home, I live elsewhere.