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People bury the parts of history they don’t like, pave it over like African cemeteries beneath Manhattan skyscrapers.
You won’t find gold panning in Fuckboy Creek.”
“Baby, if you wanna keep what’s yours, you gotta hold on to it better than that. Someone is always waiting to snatch what you got, even these damn birds.”
“My hair is gray, but my gray matter is still functional, thank you very much.”
I should just start building my cabin alongside Fuckboy Creek because obviously it’s where I intend to spend the rest of my days.
In all the times I’d moved in New York, I’d only thought about how safe the area was for me, not what my presence meant for people in the neighborhood. Not about what advantages I had that they didn’t.
