From “Oryx and Crake” by Margaret Atwood:

“So this was the rest of his life. It felt like a party to which he’d been invited, but at an address he couldn’t actually locate. Someone must be having fun at it, this life of his; only right at the moment, it wasn’t him.”

Have I located my “party address?” The inner GPS says it’s close by, and my nearest rest stop/current home base is Bedstuy.

I pondered this over, I can’t really relate to Atwood’s simile. My life has never felt like a party. If anything, I empathize with Anderson’s “Ugly Duckling,” “Girl That Sells Matches,” or even a Shakespearean love tragedy. BUT, NYC itself is a party, and we are all trying to find our “good time” in it.

Oh I have one💡! My simile:

New York City is a party where most of us aren’t officially invited. We crash the party, want to “check it out.”  Once we got here, we realize there is a cover charge, or we have to purchase enough drinks to meet the minimum fee. And so here we are, paying our dues.  Meanwhile, we try to see if we can work up enough courage to get on the dance floor, and show the world what we’ve got.