“Asparagus jumping through cotton candy fields is not what the goat ordered.”

That sentence makes absolutely no sense.

Or does it?

Which is exactly why I like it.

The world has become very good at making sense. Algorithms know what we want before we do. Phones tell us where to go. Social media tells us what everybody else is looking at. Somewhere along the way, a lot of the randomness disappeared.

And randomness is where some of the best stuff happens.

That has always been the idea behind Ask a New Yorker.

I started Ask a New Yorker in 1999. The premise was ridiculously simple: go out into New York and talk to people.

Famous or unknown. Influential or invisible. Born here or just arrived.

Just New Yorkers.

Ask them questions. Listen to their answers. See where the conversation goes.

Because despite the reputation New Yorkers have around the rest of the world, I’ve always found the opposite to be true.

New Yorkers aren’t rude. They’re in motion. There’s an urgency to the way we communicate because everybody has somewhere to be, so you learn to get to the point.

New Yorkers talk. They help. They argue. They laugh. They give directions. They’ll tell you what’s wrong with the city, what’s right with it and, whether you asked or not, exactly what they think you should do next.

They are funny, opinionated, generous, impatient, complicated and caring.

In other words, they’re interesting.

Over the years, Ask a New Yorker became a pretty remarkable little corner of the internet. We interviewed people all over the city. The message board grew to well over 100,000 posts. At one point, close to a million people a month were finding their way to the site.

Then things changed.

The internet changed.

New York changed.

But I never stopped doing the thing that started it.

I never stopped talking to strangers.

I still do it constantly. On sidewalks. In parks. In bars. On subway platforms. In stores. Sitting on benches. Walking down the block.

Sometimes I have a camera.

Sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes the conversation lasts thirty seconds.

Sometimes I remember it twenty years later.

And that’s why Ask a New Yorker is back.

Not because the internet needs another website.

It certainly doesn’t.

And not because I’ve suddenly decided the world needs more carefully staged content, perfect lighting, perfect hooks and people repeating whatever the algorithm rewards.

There’s plenty of that already.

I’m interested in the opposite.

Real people.

Real conversations.

The odd little moments you don’t plan.

The nun giving her expertise on the World Cup. Genius Taylor, 87 years old, still riding his bike to his shop every day. The transformation of a dead tree into a wishing tree. Sitting down with Gay Talese.

That’s the city.

New York, in its own words.

And that’s what I want this place to be again.

We’ll bring back pieces from the old Ask a New Yorker archive. We’ll tell new stories. There’ll be photographs, videos, interviews and probably some things that don’t fit neatly into any category.

Good.

They’re not supposed to.

Not a souvenir. A conversation starter.

The merch is part of the idea. ASK A NEW YORKER on a shirt isn’t just a logo. It’s an invitation.

Wear one around New York. Wear one in Moscow. Talk to a stranger. Get out of your comfort zone.

That’s the whole idea.

Twenty-five years later, I’m still convinced of one thing:

The most interesting person in New York might be the person standing five feet away from you.

You just have to talk to them.

We’re back.

The City Speaks.