Exiles in Elseworlds

In a tired part of the city
Hiding from the fast talk
Watch 'Don't walk' to 'Walk'
Easy when you're dreaming
Staring at the movies
Standing in a circle,
Laughing at the wrong time.

If alcohol could take me there.
I'd take a shot a minute
And be there by the hour.

Take a walk around Times Square
With a pistol in my suitcase
And my eyes on the TV.

By day, the junction of Broadway and Seventh Avenue dazzles all the senses. By night, the senses are electrified. Anything could happen between Sixth and Eighth Avenues, from West 40th to West 53rd.

It's been said there are eight million stories in the Big Apple. Modern New Yorkers scorn this as an underestimate, though the more cynical ones will hold forth on the topic of how many stories are the same old, same old. Others will argue that every story is different, because New York makes them so. This surging, seething city: the hot spot of the American melting pot, where so many first set foot on American shores, where so many come seeking fame and fortune, where so many find only disappointment or despair or even death, where a few manage to hitch their dreams to that morning star.

"Every person on the streets of New York is a type. The city is one big theater where everyone is on display," said Jerry Rubin. All the world may be a stage, and all the men and women merely players, but who plays what? Who gets the leading role, and who will forever be stuck in the chorus line? Who will remain a stage-door Johnny, and who will be able to move from lead actor to director ... or the even more powerful position of producer?

Cast, crew, backers, and audience ... each one brings their own meaning to that granite beehive where people jostle and whir like molecules in an overheated jar.

New York City. Center of the universe.

If you can make it here, you'll make it anywhere.