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

Zoë Tersche

Freelance writing focusing on internet freedoms and surveillance along with sexuality and gender in media and tech.

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