The last days at home must be touristy – getting in everything “classic” before you go from being a New Yorker to being a person who used to live in New York. Strolls by the Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park, a dip into Bloomingdale’s, and a nice hot slice of ultra-touristy Grimaldi’s pizza. Even so, an offhand comment from a fellow line member such as, “I think it’s everyone’s first time here,” is obnoxious. I’m no tourist – you’re the tourist. I’ve lived here since 1998 and I was here on 9/11 so you can just go tourist yourself. Even if the last time I came here was 10 years ago and I couldn’t for the life of me remember where it was. Even if I’m snapping pictures of our steaming large pizza just like the table of Australians next to us. Even if I still get lost below Delancey Street.