I stood on the north end of the Howard Beach subway station platform at JFK airport in Brooklyn. The sky was a rich cloudless blue and the air felt moist, like a new Spring, even though May had just turned into June. In the past the trek back into New York used to bring with it either an exhilarating joy or a foreboding sense of dread. Today, however, it elicited only apathy. I had been in New York for over five years now. New York had merely become the place that I lived, a city both unlike any other and at the same time the same as all the rest.