A sea of people pass as I smoke a half gram joint. Tourists look on in disgust as a woman rummages through the trash for cans, but everyone’s got to eat. I head into the subway at 42nd St. A man dressed like a golfer is pissing on the stairs, I smile, it’s good to be back.
Lovers in swan shaped boats paddle along the canal. The late afternoon sun shimmers on the surface. Hordes of people wander the banks in various states of undress. They walk dogs and hold hands and hurriedly eat ice cream before it drips down the cone. Simple pleasures cure the lives we lead.
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