I lived in a small apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, a section of midtown manhattan which was, at the time, notorious for its slums and high crime. It was a wild environment— friends didn’t feel safe staying with me. Prostitutes, drugged-out homeless people, and gang members roamed the street. The air was filled with the sounds of taxis honking, car alarms blaring, glass bottles shattering, people yelling obscenities, gunshots—and because I lived across the street from a fire station, there were the occasional fire truck sirens thrown into the mix.