you work so hard to find the right apartment
and then you don’t even want to stay in it because it’s small and dark and the neighbors
are loud and all of your furniture reminds you of the person you left. this is good.
and who even knows what’ll happen. what’ll happen? who even knows. that’s what i’m saying,
who even knows. this is my favorite part, before anyone gets seriously injured. Good!
Now take aim. Cock the gun. Shoot. Wow. I know right! If you hold on to the archaic
forms of preservation, you do not empower yourself to move forward. i’m going to sit
down and look at all my stuff. it’s weird, and strangely liberating, to be without stuff.
the storage space has helped me enter this cocoon from which I will emerge a butterfly.
My therapist says you’re mean to me because you think all women are poisonous. This is
a list of all the apartments in which I have lived in the past fifteen years that I have
been alone, I mean, an adult. 340 east 9th street, 117 east 7th street, 600 bergen, 101
thompson, 45 pierrepont, 309 east 9th, 258 west 72nd, 66th west 9th, 27 first avenue, a month
– trump plaza, with that girl, from Argentina. 274 east 19th…