100 Words on Love: Brooklyn

Walking uptown tonight next to some fashion jackal fussing with her cell phone. She is attempting to camouflage 40 and hard living with processed hair, cheek implants, inflated lips. She gives me an appraising glare, I don’t know why she bothers. We are not even the same species.

On the subway platform Princess is fuming with the indignity of taking the train to the airport. She huffs her enormous overnighter on the bench beside me and perches atop it in the gold medal position of superiority while I languish below, merely bronze.

Hurry C train and take me to Brooklyn.