Sunday, November 22, 2009

Rainclouds and Cigarettes: Lonely Little Metaphors


Fuck this island. All the free whiskey in the world can't get me to fall asleep content tonight. I still haven't seen the Brooklyn Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, or Coney Island.

Last time I was here, we rode the L Train all over the place. The L will always hold a special place in my memory, though now I'm a little resentful for how its mention stirs my heart. Everything, everything was so long ago. Goddamn you girls. I'm spun. What kind of conspiracy have you all been plotting, you with the faraway eyes and the smiles that reduce me to rubber and sand?

How do I want to remember Brooklyn? Maybe I don't want to remember it at all. Maybe I need to give it another chance. Just like the L Train, rumbling below this cat-piss floor tonight. Just like it. I'll never forgive, but I'll never forget. Same goes for you, I suppose. I don't even know who I'm writing to anymore.

These long, lazy days in NYC have ruined my rhythm. I want to get back Out There and drive, unrestrained by the belligerent and claustrophobic cluster-fuck that is New York traffic. I am the parallel parking king, but what good is it? I want to rule the roadways. I'm ready for seafood in Maryland, to attack Tennessee from the east, for truck stops and the long lonely hum of the countryside rolling by. Big city, you ain't my home.

Ok, New York City. We have one more day and night together. I won't cave to my crippling exhaustion and depression just yet, no matter how gray and miserably drunk I may have been for the past three nights. This too shall pass.

Good night, big city, and all of my lonely little metaphors. I'll never forget you, no matter what my prayers may plead before my head hits the pillow.

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