"City of Masochists"

"Yo, nigga. She's always on my ass. She knows I'm smokin' something, and she's always trying to catch me out."

"Niggas" fly from this kid's mouth one-two-three-four as he spouts about how he tests negative but this woman, whoever she is, is always trying to trip him up.

"I drink Colt 45s and two cups of water," he tells his friend, who smiles and nods, yeah, that'll trip her up.

They know I am listening. I stop caring and the conversation swims into the distance, floaty.

A friend said to me last night, "New York is a city of masochists."

A man raps his knuckles on his temple, just below his cornrows. One-two-three-four-five, then he is still as if it never happened.

(My friend told me last night, "New York is a city of masochists.")

There are empty plasticine bags all over the streets of the city and the USS Intrepid is stuck too deeply in mud to be tugged out of port for an overhaul.

A dead praying mantis lay on my stoop yesterday. I looked to see if its head were missing in case a female had eaten it after copulating.

Yeah, a friend said to me last night, "New York is a city of masochists."