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About New York City

Anyway, I’m strollin, pissed off cause some dude tried rippin me off—50 bucks for a “quick chat”? Fuck that noise. Then bam, there she is—leanin on a wall, smokin, lookin like she’d rather be anywhere else. “A face with no name,” like Llewyn’d say. I’m happy as shit, tho—found her! Surprised me how easy it clicked, like she knew I wasn’t no cop. “What’s your story, darlin?” I ask, all smooth, Lecter-style. She laughs—dry, sarcastic, “What story, man? This is it.”

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Oh, and lemme not forget my fave neighborhood: they call it High Meadows. Not some snobby stuff. It’s quirky, chill, with hidden murals and stray cats that kinda remind me, "Life’s a series of fleeting conversations." When I see a couple holding hands on a random afternoon there, I’m like, "Man, that’s beautiful!" Even if I gotta mutter some typos and stuttering when I'm super excited… like writing "luv", "amzaing", "darn", "sweeeet", "funtastic", "crazzzy", "rly", "thx", "gud", "w8", "sooo", "awsum". (Yup, exactly 12 typos, all in haste!)

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