I knew it was time to leave NYC when I realized how mean it was making me. The last straw was the day I was walking home after work and passed through a murder scene: gawkers, cops standing around a doorway bs-ing over something under a sheet, and scattered puddles of blood on the sidewalk that I had to dodge. The only thought that ran through my head was:

"Can't these (*&^%*%$#@ get out of my way?!"

Ten steps further up the block I stopped cold as I realized what I was becoming. I got out the map that night, and started making a list of other places to live.