I’ve got a sickness, it feels like love.
On the 30th we got up at 4 am to go into the city so Michael could get his visa. We waited outside in a line against the building before the sun came up; although the process was rather arduous we were the first ones to go and took the train home before 11. Going through the Bronx I noticed a particular writer by the name of Pen had tagged every 50 feet or so all the way in to Westchester, hundreds of tags along the same stretch of track. Mike was slouched down in his seat across from me sitting next to the “senior citizen” lady who was clipping coupons and eating crum cake that ended up all over her jacket. I kicked at his leg, he opened one eye “Stop waking me up.” The crab didn’t want to see it.
I searched google and this was the only picture I found of the infamous Pen. Kristen paused over her chip and salsa while we dined at Martines “He must have been out there every night.”
I searched google and this was the only picture I found of the infamous Pen. Kristen paused over her chip and salsa while we dined at Martines “He must have been out there every night.”