OH! BABY!
my spelling doesnt get better only worse and my typewriter is very dusty in what one would call a corner if one were set on presenting everything with a proper name. im thinking about late night Canal St. (how it empties!) drives all by myself, and my urge to intensify every experience with VANITY. and by VANITY, i mean you and all my masochistic impulses in your direction. 100 hundred blocks, a forty five minute train, two subway lines and all my endeavors end with pathetic self-pity in the back of a yellow cab (rolling rock green lights sucked up through straws). And this time when i tell the driver, 'brooklyn, fast,' i am so sad to see him do it.