Screams from the Underground — 2/24/17

I really need to stop coming home drunk thinking I can stay awake for the twenty or so minutes it takes to heat up chicken. One of these nights I’m going to burn down my apartment, and probably what’s left of myself along with it. Thank God that oven gets hot as fuck, though, scorching hot enough to finally make me come to. I’ll leap up in a puddle of sweat but feeling dry as a raisin on the inside, thinking, “Shit, not again, not another waste of the good stuff!” Rations being scarce at times, poultry’s a commodity. It’s only one of many worries, but even in that moment the walls themselves can scram.

Speaking of global warming — one minute I’m pushing around Greenpoint wearing a t-shirt under the sun, the next minute the snow coming down’s got me wet in another way, while I’m just trying to head out again so I can go and dance to “Broccoli.” I don’t think I really want to get into that right now. Sorry.

This is February in the city.

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