In New York, No One Cares About My Past. AI-Generated.
The first thing New York taught me was silence.
Not the silence of emptiness, but the silence of indifference.
It was February, and the wind cut through Manhattan like broken glass. I stood outside the subway entrance at Canal Street, my fingers buried deep inside thin gloves that were no match for winter. Steam rose from the grates in the pavement, twisting upward like ghosts escaping the underground.
