I Live in NYC

I was sitting on a park bench in Battery Park last Saturday when a man came up to me and asked if I was from the city. I hesitated but said yes. I was excited because other tourists were asking the park service guy for directions. I have lived in NYC for seven months. Wherever I live, I think of myself as being from somewhere else. Right now, I feel like I'm from Michigan, where I had lived previous to moving to NYC. The man stood in front of me, kindly acting as a sunblock, and asked for directions to Times Square. I had just come from there, so I confidently described the route. He thanked me and walked away. I sat on the bench. The sun shone. The tourists strolled. The memories rush inward. One thing I remembered was the actual route to Times Square. I had told the man to get on the wrong subway. I felt terrible, but the sun soon dried the guilt that had washed over me. Maybe I feel like I'm from somewhere else because I'm not ready to let NYC supplant my prior address. Or maybe I feel like I'm from somewhere else because my sense of direction takes so long to develop.