Oh dear, poor Mr. Mamjani. His pretend "auntie", who he pretend cried about, who he pretended was in New York during 9/11 and who he pretended was afraid of riding the subways because she got dirty looks from Americans when she wore her hijab in public turned out to be yet another bullshit story, designed to shift the blame from those who attacked our country, our city and 2,977 of our fellow citizens that day onto the very country city and citizens they were attacking. Poor auntie Mamjani. Boo fucking hoo.

Let me tell you about my Auntie, Mr Mamjani. My Auntie who spent her younger years dreaming about working in that city, who went to secretarial school and got a job in mid town that she happily woke every day at 6 am to commute to, and from which she would travel to visit us on weekends "up the country" and share all her stories of the things she would do and the friends she had in the city that was her favorite place on Earth.

My real Auntie introduced me to that city, taking me and my sister to Radio City Music Hall when we were small, and bringing us to lunch at her favorite cafes. Year after year, she would bring us to "the city" to see the big tree and ice skate in Rockefeller Center, and to stand inline to view the amazing Christmas windows at Saks, Macy's and Gimbels department stores. As we grew up, she brought us to the great museums of the world, all there in our beautiful city. We saw art, and culture and true history those places, we picnicked in Central Park and we witnessed the growth of the city all around us. And, of course, there was Broadway, and who better to take me to my first live Broadway show, "Hair", against my mother's puritan objections, and while she nervously waited at home to ask if they had included the nude scene. "No Mom," I said when she finally asked, "they got your note."

Then, when Auntie thought we were grown enough, we got to see the parade - the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. It is a memory that will never leave us. We didn't go every year but we went when we could and it was more amazing every time.

In the early 1970's construction was begun on the World Trade Center, the feature of which were two identical buildings that were called the Twin Towers. They were beautiful and modern, and twenty years after they were built, they were bombed by terrorists like the one who we have seen you smiling your snake-like slimy smile with in pictures. It was disappointing to him and his cabal that only six people were killed and no buildings went down that day , but thirty years later they would be attacked again and destroyed on the worst day in American history. A day that affected me, my family, friends and my Auntie, who was now living up the country in our family bungalow, next door to my mother.

That was the day, Mr. Mamjani, that your pretend auntie stopped riding the subways so she wouldn't get looked at while wearing her hijab. Poor auntie Mamjani. It was also the day that my family lost our freedom to wander the city that we grew up with and loved. We became fearful of visiting the city, going to shows, walking in the park and watching the parade. We didn't go to lunch or dinner there any more, and Radio City became a distant memory. We tried a few more times to continue our Christmas tradition visiting the Metropolitan Museum Christmas tree, but the tension outweighed the fun and we found ourselves hurrying through so we could leave the city in case another terrorist event were to take place. Eventually we found other ways to celebrate, and abandoned some traditions all together, and now the memories, while wonderful, are tainted with a sadness and fear that your ancestors blanketed us with in 2001. Back then a real Mayor, Mr. Giuliani, did an amazing job bring the city back. He worked as hard as he could, daily, tirelessly serving the city, building up the police force and making it as safe as he could again.

And who was there through all of this? Curtis Sliwa was there watching over the city the whole time. He and his Guardian Angels took care of us, and his dedication to the city that he loves made a huge difference as its' wounds healed and it came back. His devotion and ability to manage this city will never end and are his mission in life. Curtis is the brother, son and true friend of every person who loves New York.

And now, Mr. Mamjani, I have not stepped foot in that once magnificent city for nearly 25 years. My Auntie left this Earth three years ago without having returned to the place where she experienced so much joy and success in her youth. We talked of those times and shopped in the Metropolitan Museum catalog, but we were not comfortable putting our feet on the pavement of that city as it went from Giuliani's care to eventual ruin in the hands of Mr. Di Blasio, Mr. Adams ,and now whoever the next Mayor of the city will be. I can only hope that it will not be you, and only pray for some understanding of how New Yorkers can allow themselves to be so swindled by a man who would lie about having an auntie who wore a hijab and was afraid of how people would look at her in the subway. Really, young man, why would you need to tell such a story when the polls are saying that you are nearly a shoe-in? Curious.

I can only hope that it will give New Yorkers pause to reflect on the other lies of yours, and the plans you have to destroy once and for all America's city that we all have loved so dearly. No one will be safe in the subways with you as Mayor. Nor will they be safe on the streets, parks or in buildings either. They will be poor and hungry and cold without homes. And that is only the beginning.