Love hate New York

I saw a shitty apartment, in a nowhere part of town, that was priced too high.

It’s cold.

No one looks you in the eye. I walked everywhere, but didn’t really get anywhere.

There are papers all over my floor, my California grip slipping.

But I stopped for carry out on Hudson and talked to a Brazilian dancer playing the part of a waitress. She had a man’s name tattooed on the back of her neck. The outline of a navy blue heart on her wrist.

Told me “all the jobs are headed to L.A.┬áHere, it’s just Broadway.”

She wants to leave New York too.

Not me.

I’m good til’ the morning.

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