In New York City there are so many different worlds within one block, and so much of it is too abstract as one city for fiction.
I've been walking in Central Park
Rolling Stones songwriters Mick Jagger & Keith Richards, "Miss You"
Walking Central Park after dark, something stirs up the path in the bushes. Suddenly it appears, pausing momentarily and looking at me with black devilish eyes. I stop at the edge of the path and stay still to not interfere. Hunched over the critter, a raccoon, wobbles forward without fear to a row of trash cans. It climbs to the top of the last can its feet scratching the metal. Then it disappears down the opening. Nosily it tosses things about, searching, I supposed, for food to. No luck it shoots out head first, then its whole fat body pulls out and stops and jerks its head toward me with those penetrating black eyes as another raccoon wanders out the bush and wobbles up the path toward me. .
Deciding to leave them to their own accord, I go another way ...