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MIT and the admissions office will be closed November 24–25 for Thanksgiving break, and will open on November 28.

City Strangers by Audrey C. '24

a comic

a drawing of the empire state building at golden hour. handwritten text reads: I'm living in New York City this summer. Oh strainger, it's a lot. picture of my doc martens accidentally stepping into a brown puddle of city juice. gross. text reads: Brown puddles of mystery city juice. Perpetually gridlocked traffic. Narrow scaffolds under which I'm barely squeezing past crowds. Seeing so many people, so many of you, makes me feel anxious and invisible. drawing of me and two strangers holding onto the subway pole. text reads: you and i hold onto the same pole, as the C express train zooms halfway across Manhattan without stopping. Life here is so fast paced. Youre leaving me behind. me staring out the window of my apartment. text reads The moments where my life crosses yours may be fleeting, but maybe I find my peace in me staring at the intersection outside my apartment window. text reads: this sprawling city, in you.me laying on a bed of clouds overlooking my apartment, the metropolitan, a bookstore, and a plain building. text reads: You munch on pizza from the place underneath my apartment, as I peoplewatch from the fire escape. We listen to a drag queen read children’s books in the middle of The Metropolitan Museum. I read your zine about quitting grad school. I draw you at an “underground figure drawing event.

me sitting on a bench in washington square park. text reads: You make me wonder if I’d be a comic artist in another life. Illustrating stories from my life interwoven with yours. Maybe I could be one in this life too. A stranger told me so at the Washington Square Park.me trying to fall asleep with the new york city skyline in the background


text in the art for accessibility (and because my handwriting is very mediocre):

I’m living in New York City this summer. Oh stranger, it’s … a lot. 

Brown puddles of mystery city juice. Perpetually gridlocked traffic. Narrow scaffolds under which I’m barely squeezing past crowds. Seeing so many people, so many of you, makes me feel anxious and invisible. 

You and I hold onto the same pole as the C express train zooms halfway across Manhattan without stopping. Life here is so fast paced. You’re leaving me behind. 

The moments where my life crosses yours may be fleeting, but I’ll try to find my peace in this sprawling city, in you. 

You munch on pizza from the place underneath my apartment, as I people watch from the fire escape. We listen to a drag queen read children’s books in the middle of The Metropolitan Museum. I flip through your zine about quitting grad school. I draw you at an “underground” figure drawing event. 

You make me wonder if I’d be a comic artist in another life. Illustrating stories from my life interwoven with yours. Maybe I could be one in this life too. A stranger told me so at Washington Square Park. 

Stranger, I must go. You may never sleep, but I definitely do. The glittering city lights flood through the gaps between my window blinds. They make falling asleep harder, but oh are they beautiful.

inspired by comic: métro by Jude ’21 and A City Inside by Tillie Walden