I couldn't imagine living in New York City.
Everyone seems so cold and I would hate
to open my window. I would become
another person, somebody who passed
sad homeless men in garbage bags
begging for change. I would stop eating
and read poetry on the street, hoping
for my big break.

I would ask everybody I passed if they
had any crack, and maybe even get fired
from my crappy job at the Taco Bell
because I wanted to pretend I spoke
Chinese for the day. Maybe after I got
fired I'd try to work in an art gallery,
and learn to paint naked men in pale
florescent lighting.

New York City is too dense, there are
too many people crammed together,
like sardines. It never ceases to amaze
me that they still manage to live their
lives. But maybe if I go, nobody
would be able to find me and I could
live a life of disguise, forgetting who
I used to be.