Not as in sucks. As in stinks.
One comment I received about how it was a “bad idea” to move to New York was, “It’s stinky there,” (yes, it was a girl) which, to me, is funny. It does stink. Ridiculously bad, at times. It also, at other times, stinks AMAZING. Living here is an assault on your olfactory senses like a jailhouse rape. You’re constantly smelling a million different cultures cooking their spices and poultices and hawking them on the streets. You’re smelling bakeries, with aromas of pumpkin and onion and wheat. You’re smelling vegetables roasting and meats sizzling. Yes, you’re smelling garbage and people who haven’t bathed since the Reagan administration and sewer pipes discharging the steam of hell and the lady next to you, who apparently had a lot of dairy recently. This is WHY I moved here. To have my senses overwhelmed. Life is messy and stinky and it’s boring to be comfortable ALL the time and only smell or do or feel things that are pleasant. Sometimes, I like being uncomfortable. The hottest thing any girl ever told me was, “Sometimes you say things that make me feel really uncomfortable.” Then she leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I have a secret. Sometimes, I really like it.”
I know that I’m still in the honeymoon stage and it’s easy to say I’ll hate it in a year.
I fucking doubt it.