He sat in the back of the van for the rest of the morning, not to avoid traffic, but to be seen. By his neighbors. By the suckers off to their jobs at the banks and brokerage firms, slaving for hours and always dying at fifty. By their snooty kids off to their private schools with the French names. By the too-thin wives stuck at home, bored, giving off that ‘please, fuck me” vibe whenever he’d be over fixing their sink. He was out of this town, and he wanted everyone to know. Goodbye, New York City.
“I don’t care about “making” it here. That’s fool’s gold,” he yelled at a passing neighbor, the depressing guy who lived in apartment 3D. “I’m off to Nebraska.”