What the fuck am I doing in New York City?
Really. I’m in the middle of my life and I have a. . . ROOMMATE! Not a lover, companion, partner, whatever. A roommate. With whom I don’t quite get along.
I pay too much to live here.
I’m working three jobs and still not making enough money to live on my own.
I have no lover (of the quick-toss or long-term variety).
City and state politics are a cesspool.
Cockroaches. Rats. Bedbugs. (No verbs necessary.)
JFK is a nightmare and LaGuardia is a nightmare to get to.
Too godDAMNED many people.
Sitting on the train and trying to avoid the crotch of the person standing over me. (But hey, at least I got a seat, right?)
Thinking that any beer less than 7 bucks a pint is cheap.
PissMoanPissMoanPissMoan.
Where the hell else am I going to live?
God. Dammit. I can’t live anyplace else. Where else would make me this crazy without actually making me crazy?
And tall buildings. I likes de tall buildings.
Dammit.
AbsurdBeats 