Recently I met a guy in DR Congo who had traveled to New York to help out with an HBO documentary. As is fashionable for men here, he wore a shirt picturing a big map of this country and a plea for peace.
Discussing New York he had the usual reactions. From the 45th floor, the cars looked like matchboxes! He dropped a matchbox on the floor for emphasis. He wondered about the sun which shines (in April) but does not produce heat. “What kind of a country is this?” He went to a few concerts. And imitated the way New Yorkers walk. Rush. Rush. Rush. “I cannot take this order,” he said. “I need my hell.”
