ketchup and caked on blood stains.
everything goes down the same. i’ve become a war horse.
Not to be trifled with – Nordics and native New Yorkers – beware.
“Give me a pick up line. Quick! Give me a good pick up line,” another boy and Bedford Avenue.
trying to be a clever interruption in my day.
i’m one of the walking wounded. i got things to do boy.
Pockets full of things better left unsaid. Owner of precisely one gallon of liquid concentrated bleach.
A poor man’s best attempt at life.
A few month’s worth of blood accumulating ‘neath my nail beds.
Who has time for strangers or old lovers.
they both make me nervous.