NYC
I enlisted the forces within to conquer the Whitestone Proper quelled to imagine the musings of such Sea Birds, rolling their plastic eyes at the pigeons of Washington Square. Where are the leaves, the squirrels raged, tender tips of fondling fingers folding and rolling their acorn nuts. I might just squeeze his little cheeks at the sight his nose, so squeeky and rabid. I scurried for the ground, found yellow drips of picasso's blood boiling over the brim of the Hudson River Bandit, steaming down shore towards cities edge. If I looked twice and slowly, the world might just edge to the end near battery park, might just turn down 90 degrees and allow us to slid down to China. The sea birds down here don't have patience for me, and the pigeons have stolen one of their glass eyes, so I am sure my stay is overwelcome and my welcome over easy like the eggs scrambled in the Diner on 43rd. I searched for Pizza, 33rd, 32nd, 31st, like the clock ticking forward, the clock ticking forward