Bed

I got stuck in DC on the way to NYC, on account of the storm, that left all the snow, and the endless stampeding herd that is humanity. Life could be worse.

I get nervous flying, sometimes. During the ascent, the man in the seat next to me told me: "The day He pulled you from your mother's womb, He gave you a set number of days." That was supposed to console me. "But how many!" I wailed. He had no answer for me.

Tomorrow, I'll be in another place.

Moving

In the early part of next year, I'll likely be moving. To either NYC or DC. But I can't decide which one. DC would enable me to do a new project that I've had in mind for some time. NYC would be, well, a dream.



I don't remember a time when I didn't want to live in NYC. My father grew up in Brooklyn, in Flatbush. I love it because it is larger than life, like me.



DC is sort of like the opposite of everything I know. Cold as fuck. Built like a prison. A weird kind of wunderkammer, if you dig deep enough in the right spots.



For a while, I was hoping I would return to LA, but it seems like that's not going to happen. The old life is dead. The only question that remains is where the new one begins.