“We all need to escape from our real lives sometimes (or many times); for me, most daydream escapes end up in the city that never sleeps.”

“I LOVE NY” isn’t just a logo on a tourist t-shirt. It’s my typical mindset. Granted, since I am not a New Yorker, my mindset is a romanticized vision of a place that doesn’t reflect the grittier reality of trying to make it in NYC without a couple million in my bank account, but come on, if we were only allowed to write stories that portray reality, we would likely be either bored or horrified.

From the first second of its conception in my brain (also known as “creative disaster zone”), New Year, Same Habit existed in New York City. I do not understand the hold that place has on me, but I first saw it in July 2001, and I remember my 17-year-old head at the time fell head over heels for it.

Perhaps my love for it was solidified two months later while watching the painfully infamous live video footage of the sky high World Trade Center “Twin Towers” crumble to the concrete. I remember that like it was yesterday. I had friends and family who lived there, and I was a helpless bystander in middle America who had no idea if they were alive. The cell towers were absolutely flooded with phone calls, and we couldn’t get a hold of each other. Everything was at a stand still. It was a snapshot moment in history- in my history -that seems to have permanently frozen New York in my head as this place that can handle anything, and I hope it proves me right.

“Real life 2020 was brutal there, I know, but New Yorkers are something else. I tip my hat to them.”

I have only visited my New York pals (in Brooklyn, Queens, and the lower west side and midtown Manhattan) a half-dozen times over the past two decades, therefore, if I were to have any chance of writing this story with any accuracy whatsoever, I needed to re-familiarize myself with layout of the city. As such, I spent significant amounts of the “research” stage of my writing on Apple Maps to virtually “walk” through the streets of NYC (so cool!). In doing so, I decided to ground New Year in the real here and now. Real buildings, real streets, real restaurants, etc.

Understandably, many readers prefer to imagine what these places look like, but I personally love seeing Loki and Sig’s world as it would be if it were a true story. So, for those readers who feel as I do, please take a virtual walk with me through the real NYC dreamscape of New Year Same Habit.

FEATURED IN CHAPTER 1 “WE’RE JUST STRANGERS”

STRANGE AT 325 W. Broadway

Sigyn wanted to throttle Darcy for forcing her, on pain of relentlessly sending sex gifs to her phone during every waking hour of January, to come to this over-crowded, loud New Year’s Eve party at a friend of a…uh…friend’s…swanky new restaurant on West Broadway, just off the corner of Grand Street.

Said restaurant— Strange (a little on the nose since it was the guy’s name, come on)—had opened only three days ago, yet already had a six-month waiting list.  Honestly, she did not understand the obsessive need these types had to be members of the social elite in the lower west side(or at least appear to be).

The portion sizes here were miniscule and cost as much as a new iPhone, leaving you hungrier (and poorer, obviously) than before you arrived.  So then you end up paying for Thai take out or something on the way home to actually fill your stomach.  She needed a salary three times what she made now to “justify” partaking in Manhattan’s foodie culture.

-from CHAPTER 1 “WE’RE JUST STRANGERS”

SIGYN’S BUILDING

159 Prince Street

Keys in hand, shivering from both the cold and the stabbing pain in her gut after seeing Thor, she hurried up the crowded SoHo sidewalk, sidestepping puddles and the unsteady, tipsier types.  God, her feet were not happy with these heels, but at least her building was only a seven minute walk from here.  Twenty or so annoying, but harmless catcalls later, she arrived at the outside doors that led to her small, pre-war one-bedroom, a few floors above a trendy cycling cafe (so weird) and next to a juice bar on Prince Street.  The owner of said juice bar saw her just as she was about to push through those glass double doors and drag herself up to her place.

“Hi, Ms. Frey!”

“Hey, Joe,” she said, foot tapping anxiously on the concrete as she leaned back against the elaborate, painted black wood door frame, “and for the hundredth time, please just call me Sigyn.”

“Oh right, yeah,” he chuckled. “You heading in for the night?”

“Um,” she pressed her lips together, looking up at the street numbersー 161-159  ーpainted onto the glass over the doors.

“Sadly, yes,” she blew out a heavy breath. “I know it’s early, but I’m just not feeling it this year.”

He nodded. “I’m right there with you, even though tonight’s been great for business.  Well, anyway,” he waved a hand, “get some sleep if you can with all those fireworks and stuff, Sigyn.  2020 will be here tomorrow either way.  Nothing wrong with greeting it at 9:00 am instead of midnight.” The second he turned away, she pushed through the heavy doors.

-from CHAPTER 1 “WE’RE JUST STRANGERS”

*Street address: 159 Prince Street #8, New York, NY 10012; Building Website: StreetEasy.com/building/159-prince-street-new_york; Building imagery ©2020 Google, Map data : Street view ; Apartment #8 rental photos (photos originally available on StreetEasy.com, original 2015 rental listing by Bapple 1 Llc, Limited Liability Broker, listing page no longer available for hyperlinks)

FEATURED IN CHAPTER 2 “HELLO, MY NAME IS LOKI.”

LOKI’S APARTMENT

55 THOMPSON SOHO

His eyebrows came together when he noticed the time, then he opened his previous text conversation with Sig, and quickly tapped a message:

Loki: It’s a twelve minute walk from your office to my place, and you left twenty minutes ago.  Are you alright?  Where are you?

He heard the front door just then, which was hidden by about ten feet of kitchen wall, opening slowly, keys jingling in the door handle, then the click of heels on the floor.

“Fucking finally,” he mumbled to himself, rubbing his temples.  He’d been on the verge of going out to look for her, which was a bit ridiculous considering she’d just tweeted at him, and had seemed perfectly fine.  Protective, scratch that- possessive much?

Her heels stopped after about three steps instead of continuing down the hall, which he assumed meant she was pausing to hang up her coat since he could hear a zipper and a soft shuffle of fabric.  He ran a hand through his hair, wincing a bit at the tangles.  Apparently he needed to add a haircut to his already cram-packed schedule.  He bent down to search for a hair tie in the catch all drawer on the other side of the kitchen island as he waited for her to come into the room.  Once he found it, he put it between his teeth and finger-combed the too long locks away from his face.

“Sig?” he spoke with the hair tie in his mouth, eyes on the floor as he gathered his hair loosely at the nape of his neck.

She didn’t answer.

“What, are you waiting for me to come pick you up and carry you in here like royalty or something?” he asked, half joking.

Still no answer.

“Sigyn?” he called to her again, frowning at her silence.

He wound the elastic twice and dropped his arm.  Honestly, the lack of sound was getting to his nerves a bit.  She had yet to speak, and now he was conjuring up horrible scenarios where some sick obsessed fan had assaulted his girlfriend in a dark alley then stolen her keys, and was now inside his apartment.

-from CHAPTER 2 “HELLO, MY NAME IS LOKI.”

FEATURED IN CHAPTER 4 “WRITTEN IN THE DYING STARS”

56 LEONARD

“I’m crossing Canal Street now,” Loki couldn’t contain the growling, impatient edge to his voice, “so tell me where the hell you are.”

He looked up when a flash of lightning crackled across the clouds above him.  He hadn’t even noticed those clouds.  Maybe he had, but had mentally waved them off because surely the universe wasn’t this sickeningly maudlin.   God, the critics would rip him to shreds if he wrote a death scene in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“I’m at Tony’s penthouse.”

He barely heard her soft voice over the deafening crack of thunder.  Squinting into the wind, he pulled up his collar.

Don’t rain yet, Don’t rain yet, Don’t rain yet.

“His building is 56 Leonard, yes?” His eyes landed on the skinny, mirrored, skyscraper up ahead.  If he just focused on that sixty story, glass covered lighthouse in this suddenly claustrophobic sea of brick and concrete and too many people, he wouldn’t drown.

“56 Leonard,” she confirmed, sniffling quietly.

She sounded so far away.

“Loki, I need you,” she croaked.

With his hands in his jacket pockets and his heart in his throat, he crossed onto 6th ave.

Four blocks to go, LO.

“Give me 5, sweetheart.”

-from CHAPTER 4 “WRITTEN IN THE DYING STARS”

Liberty Terrace at 380 Rector Place

Standing amidst the closest friends and family of Tony Stark on a Battery Park City rooftop terrace terrace owned by the elderly father that Tony had left behind, Loki squinted up at the threatening sky over his head, a shiver shooting down his spine as the wind whipped around them.  He wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf if Sig would have just done what he’d suggested and brought her own damn jacket, but of course she hadn’t, and she was now wearing his raincoat over her short-sleeved, knee-length black dress.  He still had his suit jacket, but still.

He hadn’t worn a tie with this charcoal slim cut suit, opting instead to leave the top two buttons of his black dress shirt open, which had been perfectly acceptable before he’d so generously given away his outerwear.  Now his neck was entirely exposed to the elements while standing on top of a 25-story skyscraper overlooking the Hudson.

-from CHAPTER 4 “WRITTEN IN THE DYING STARS”