I went with the intention of living there in 1982, and lasted three weeks. While making a pay phone call in the middle of the afternoon, I observed a guy across the street with a face and gait that were a parody of an old-school villian. He doused a potted shrub in front of a restaurant with gasoline and set it afire. At night, packs of psychos you never saw in the day would emerge at half-hour intervals, each scarier than the one that preceded it. I never crossed between avenues down the long east-west streets after dark, unless tagging behind a group of six or more relatively sane-looking people. When friends went their separate ways, the common valedictory they said to one another was "Be safe." Dope was sold in plain view of the cops. When fear became paralyzing, I'd duck into the vestibule of an apartment building to toke up and put on a 500-yard stare. Everything was expensive. If you had the money to take a cab everywhere and live a couple rungs up from the bottom, maybe it wasn't so bad. But Manhattan was still rife with native New Yorkers, and they were RUDE, at best. There were stripped-down stolen cars abandoned all over the place, and whores stood in the middle of the street soliciting business. The morning after I got robbed in Times Square, I was hightailing it for home. Finally went back 24 years later. I stepped out of the train station in fight-or-flight combat mode, ready for anything. Of course NYC had changed radically, and I was soon walking around with my 12-year-old son at 4:30 a.m. without a care in the world. Can't speak for the outer boroughs, but Manhattan was transformed.
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