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About New York City

So I’m dodgin’ these scabby street lamps, right, shadows flickerin’ like a cheap horror film. And there she is—some bird leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she’s auditionin’ for a noir porno. “You lookin’ for a good time?” she says, voice like gravel and regret. I’m like, “Yeah, love, but I ain’t thick enough to get skinned alive!”—cackle like a hyena, I do. Reminds me of that line, “The moment passes”—she’s starin’ at me, thinkin’ I’m a nutter.

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So heed mine words, dear friend! When thou wanderst these streets—wander, explore, and let thy heart ride the tide of North-Augusta’s wondrous dualities—remember, every brick, every murmuring breeze, is a sonnet waiting to be recited. And lo, if thou art in need of an errant soul to guide thee, thou knowest where to find me amidst the raucous splendor of our lively, imperfect enclave!

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