Judging by the number of times I’ve sat alone in my apartment listening to Leonard Cohen records*, it didn’t seem wholly inappropriate that I had only one ticket to his show at Radio City Music Hall on Saturday. Despite having had my finger on the mouse the second Ticketmaster released tickets in March, it sold out in seconds and all I had to show for my eager readiness was one seat, 3rd mezzanine, C214.

Lest I had forgotten about the very expensive, very anticipated show, Ticketmaster e-mailed me three times before Saturday to say it would start at 8pm sharp. And seeing as how this was, randomly, my second time at Radio City in two weeks, I should’ve alotted more than thirty minutes for traveling. First I was late, then the F train was late, then the 50th St entrance was closed, and there I was trapped in Rockefeller Plaza, sweating through my dress and running in circles headless chicken-like, and then up staircases that led to Dunkin’ Donuts (seriously, every time). Panicked, I finally stopped to speak to a human being, stammering, pointing, “Outside! The street! How?! To go there!” And it’s 8:03. Thank god for the Dark Was The Night show two weeks ago, because my memory of the Radio City layout is astonishing. I’m running through the lobby, up the stairs, 1st mezz, 2nd mezz, past the usher’s question “do you want the elevator?” and me gasping/screaming “there’s no time!” like Jessie Spano in that episode with the speed pills. And then down the theater hall—my god even the carpeting is art deco—and when I walk through the door there is applause. The whole place is cheering for me. You made it! I made it. Cohen had just walked onstage.

I’ve held fast to my not-above 14th street policy when venturing into Manhattan. I adjusted it for when I started my job on 23rd. But maybe the reason I’ve grown so disenchanted with New York is because I carved a groove for myself here when I was 18 and haven’t updated it much. Radio City Music Hall is in the heart of a Manhattan I have never given a shit about and yet to sit there and hear Leonard Cohen sing “first we take Manhattan …” and “New York is cold but I like where I’m living…” and then hear 5,000 people erupt into applause at the mere mention of the city in which they live—well, the effect was disarming. There, there’s my review. The show was disarming.

*Actual vinyl, people, not a “record on my iTunes.” Just to clarify which brand of pretentious I’m being here.