If there was ever such a thing as an American Horror Story, it would be New York in 1981. From the first shot of the first episode of the season, we see an unrecognizable metropolis, free of the gentrified apartments, coffee shops, overpriced restaurants, and the air of controlled cleanliness that most of us have come to expect. The sidewalks were lined with walls of trash bags, palettes, and cardboard boxes. Rats would flit back and forth, feeding on the rotting filth that had spread a horrific stench throughout the island.
It was a bloody time. The murder rate was higher by orders of magnitudes. There were 120,000 reported robberies and probably 120,000 more that had gone unnoticed. Nearly everyone had a tale about how they were violated, beaten, or mugged. This was largely due to the crack epidemic, a rabid feeding frenzy that brought lines of cars into the ghetto, like demented drive-thrus. It had turned the city's inhabitants into a vicious pack of wolves. They'd do anything to satisfy their monolithic cravings--go door to door, break into buildings, cars, anything that was left unlocked or unprotected. They traveled in packs, taking over subway cars, alleyways, and abandoned buildings--anywhere they could get high, rest their heads, then prepare for more.
It's the city of legend, a symbol of a world gone wrong. It no longer exists, but its stain has seeped into the shallow fabric of our collective unconscious, leaving behind the smell of rotting garbage, and visions of mohawks, graffiti, and switchblades. It's simply too vile and too horrific to be washed away. New York will never live that reputation down. The island has been tainted with it.