When you're finally alone for a moment, which is a very rare thing in New York City for a lot of reasons, tiny things quickly become big things. The clicks and squeaks of your knees. Small shifts in your weight when you walk which you might normally be unaware of. Empty space in your fridge. Extra time in your day. The sound you make when you breathe. Quiet thoughts which seize their chance to speak up.
For me, the most potent is the minimization of ego-willpower. No one is watching, which means I am allowed to be simple. This is not a bad thing.
The similarities to an image you love, whether it is a film, painting, or memory, remind you of your own awareness of yourself. Solitude creates reflection which heightens one's sense of self for a short time. Strangely, there is a sharp drop in that self-awareness once too much time has elapsed. You become a stranger to yourself, your thoughts bouncing off of themselves in a swirl.