Songs to New York

"The Upper West Side had a spirit all her own, a benevolent, mysterious woman who spoke little, but who smiled in welcome greeting each time he visited her; whose distinct perfume lingered long after his departure.
"But, as one-by-one the years advanced, and with them the unrelenting increase of crime and urban neglect, the perfume faded from Timothy's conscious memory…
"… Then, in the middle of the third year, the dreams began… As they recurred in the early morning hours, their impression lingered more and more, like perfume scarcely acknowledged until compounded by the wearer's frequency." - Chapter 4, The Bar.

After my first two (formative) years in New York City, when my family moved further and further upstate, my subconscious mind performed what I had too easily forgotten while awake. The dreams I had about the city recurred to the point of my weeping. Beset with poverty and homelessness, most times unable to afford a two-way train ticket to Grand Central Station, I wondered whether I would ever see the Big Apple again.
Years later, I returned with nothing save a trash bag containing clothing and personal items. I considered myself of great wealth: I was in New York.
My Mom joined me soon after, and we took a room in a residence hotel on the Upper West Side. After two more years of extreme economic hardship, I became a Post Office clerk in Brooklyn. During my overnight lunches and breaks, I began writing Songs to New York; and upon its completion waited until I had gained enough maturity as a writer to edit it.
However, it was at the Manhattan residence hotel room where I got the idea for my first story, The Cyclist, about a cat who rides a bicycle. Next door to the hotel was a brownstone with a large window facing ours. Who lived behind that window? I wondered.