I saw a shitty apartment, in a nowhere part of town, that was priced too high.
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. Here, it’s just Broadway.”
She wants to leave New York too.
I’m good til’ the morning.