To stand in Times Square after reading Manhattan Nocturne is to feel the city’s pulse as a raw, almost violent thing. The relentless glare of the billboards, the ceaseless churn of bodies, and the cacophony of sounds become less a spectacle and more a mirror reflecting the protagonist’s own fractured psyche. The area’s manufactured glamour, juxtaposed with its underlying grit, embodies the moral ambiguity and the seductive, yet ultimately corrosive, nature of the secrets that plague the characters. What was once a symbol of boundless possibility transforms into a claustrophobic space, a gilded cage reflecting the protagonist's own entrapment within a web of desire and deceit. The feeling of being watched, a constant undercurrent in the novel, is amplified here, as if the city itself is a knowing observer, complicit in the unfolding drama.