Michael feels like he should defend New York, but he doesn’t know how. There is a lot of concrete and blood, it’s true. He wants to say nowhere in the world is really that great, but the only other place he’s been might have colored his opinion. At least he’s never found a million creepy dolls hanging from the trees in Prospect Park or whatever.
“But it was the mouse you were scared of,” he clarifies, deadpan. “No wonder I don’t bother you.”