I am in a love and hate relationship with this city. New York gets beautiful sunsets that nobody sees or knows about. Residents ask themselves daily why they inhabit this burly brimming ship and find solace in watching the flickering tourists from Baton Rouge—who would have loved to dress, walk, and spend like splendid New Yorkers. But I love Manhattan because it’s an island that least resembles an island, and because it was traded for goods equaling a meager 24 dollars—about the price of a modest entrée in a tiny Greenwich gourmet.