My New York part deux

It’s not even six in the mo-ning and my roommate-slash-landlord-slash-infentile-brethren has tasked me with setting rat traps. In the manner that events tend to transpire at my humble abode, I enter the apartment only to be accosted by this man-boy—lovable perhaps, though it’d be a stretch to say so—recruiting me to deal with something that he understandably fears. He demands an hour of operation and a firm commitment, neither of which I’m willing to concede as it’s not even six in the mo-ning, as previously stated, and I’m coming off my drunken stupor from the night prior. My behavior only serves to reinforce his belief that “I just don’t give a shit” and that my generation is nothing but a mob of entitled nincompoops. Perhaps he’s right, but it’s early, I drank too much, thought too little, and have to go to work in a couple hours. Setting rat traps and negotiating work duties are the last things on my mind.

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For the Intermittent Writer


Short books about albums. Published by Bloomsbury.

The Wink

This Week in Kink

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