My sixth year of blogging started with a bang. I’m not sure what caused the massive explosion in my bedroom at 3AM. but I was awoken suddenly, my flannel sheets from Target on fire. There was no time to save anything from my bedroom, not even my undeserved Little League Trophies for randomly being chosen to be on the winning teams. The hot orange flames were blocking me from the door, so my only choice was to crash through the pane of glass and fly out the window, like Peter Pan. And fly I did, over the Chinese restaurants and the kosher butchers of Kissena Boulevard in Flushing into the cold dark air above, naked as when I was first brought into this world.
Yeah, I sleep in the nude. Just a little something for you to think about on a lonely night, my dear Maria. But tonight I was too busy for thoughts of romance. As if you even cared.
But tonight I was flying high, and never felt such exhilaration in all my life. I had goosebumps and my hair was twirling in the wind. I flew over 59th Street Bridge and into Manhattan. And then, as I soared over the mighty skyscrapers, I did what any man would do. I pissed in the wind. Over New York City. I pissed on the Empire State Building. I pissed on Rockefeller Center. I pissed on Donald Trump’s head. I placed my mark on the urban jungle, as if I owned the city. It was mine. The piss was the contract. Any dog can tell you that.
And then I flew back home, to my local pizzeria, still open for the night. I was naked and shivering from flying outside in early March, still winter. The owner, Angelo, offered me an apron, and a cup of coffee to warm myself.
“What would you like to eat?” asked Angelo, in his New York accent stronger than my own. “Tonight everything is on the house. You own the city!”
Apparently, word gets around fast.
And so begins another year of blogging. I take my words very seriously here. I slice my leg for you, and let it bleed, and then tell you about it for your enjoyment. I blow up my apartment, piss in the wind, and then tell my tale. I fall in love. I hate. I kvetch. I hope. I wonder. I send secret messages to Maria. I’m curious about who the fuck you are and why you come here. Everything I say here is true. Every word.