There was a slick, splattery trail of blood snaking down the sidewalk outside my apartment building, which I nearly stepped in while ducking out to pick up some provisions (read: wine) before the snowfall.  On my return home I nearly stepped in the blood again, and cursed myself for having forgotten that it was there. 

When (if?) I ever leave this city for good, it will not be for some grand reason, finally being priced out or aged out, or feeling unsafe, no:  It will be because I’ve finally reached the point where I cannot bear to step in the biological leavings of my fellow New Yorkers ever again.