My New York

Ain’t nothing more motherfucking precious than Astoria at the asscrack of dawn. Ain’t nobody on the streets, ain’t nobody giving me shit, nobody getting in my motherfucking way or breathing my motherfucking air or clogging my motherfucking airwaves. Truly ain’t nothing more motherfucking precious than Astoria at the asscrack of dawn. The only reason I’m experiencing it is because of my carousing, my inebriated buffoonery that left me riding the Q train for a good three hours, an uneaten burger in tow. The only complaint I have, despite my unintended blacked-out sojourn, is that I neither got to enjoy my burger as dinner nor enjoy my bed as sleep. But this is New York, and ain’t nothing more motherfucking precious than Astoria at the asscrack of dawn.

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Passenger

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Short books about albums. Published by Bloomsbury.

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Zoë Tersche

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

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