I put on a song that always thrilled me in the past. The familiar chords rise and fall, the drums patter and crash, the rhythms crackle, the guitar dives and swoops through waves of sound, and yet, I remain mostly unmoved.
I step onto Lexington Avenue, a block from the soaring chrome facade of the Chrysler building, my steps pacing between the black and white of the crosswalk, and try to conjure some feeling, but I remain...just okay.
Is this the price you pay for feeling good most of the time - that the things that once sent you into ecstasy don't get you off the way they used to?
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