First, let’s talk about the New York Public Library. Not the TikTok-version of it, but the one with the lions and the echoing silence that feels like a cathedral for misfits and dreamers. In the world of Ash and Eiji, it’s not just a library—it’s sanctuary. When the chaos of guns and gangs and secrets becomes too much, they retreat here. Two boys on opposite ends of the world, drawn together among marble columns and dusty pages. It’s where words matter, where silence speaks louder than gunfire. It’s where their bond feels the most human.

2) Then there’s Chinatown. Not the shiny version in tourist guidebooks, but the real Chinatown, pulsing with neon lights and smoky back alleys. In Banana Fish, it’s coded with danger and history. It’s where loyalties blur and cultures clash. Where Ash’s street wisdom collides with centuries of survival built into every dumpling joint and herbal shop. It’s gritty and alive, a place where the air itself seems to whisper secrets. Chinatown in this series is not a setting—it’s a mood.

3) And then there’s the LES—the Lower East Side (where this writer went to high school btw—Go Stuy!). The one with the graffiti scars and stories in every cracked sidewalk. It’s where rebellion was born and survival is currency. For Ash, it’s home base and hellfire. This is where plans are made, alliances are tested, and betrayal feels as normal as breathing. But it’s also where you see the flickers of something else. Hope, maybe. Or love. Or just the fragile dream that there might be more.

In Banana Fish, New York doesn’t just watch the story unfold—it writes it. And like all great love affairs, it leaves you bruised, breathless, and begging for one more night.

Disclaimer: the LES is upscale now. Try getting an apartment there cheaply but hey: this is Anime and it’s from the 1980s. And Chinatown today? More likely to find a manga shop or bubble tea than a smoky alley today…