Dusty, dirty people dressed in baggy pants and leather jackets scramble to survive in a harsh environment of an unknown planet created by greed and self-indulgence. Like the scene from fifth element or blade runner or waterworld where somebody jumps into floating traffic, I spent my weekend running around regular four-wheeled traffic and rat-infested trains.
I just came back from three days in NYC.
My face and hair are covered in a thin film of grease and dust and all I keep thinking is god I love it here, god I love it here.
I love these divebars and ugly girls and these tough bums and cab drivers with jamaican accents and the sharp cold and the dirt and garbage and traffic, traffic, traffic and the black grimy dust. I love it, I'm drinking it all in along with my diet coke I just bought from the guy selling wet hot dogs and stale pretzels down the street who ripped me off without blinking an eye.I love my dirty hotel that looks like more like a train station judging by the amount of tourists moving through it like ants in a crazy hive, opening their luggage, throwing their clothes on the stained black faded carpets that a maid is vacuuming with a useless metal hoover speaking spanish.
I want to escape and run and just find a corner somewhere to rent and become a secretary, or better a writer, or better an artist, or better a model, or better a musician, or better a dancer, something completely useless, become part of it all.
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