I’m sitting in Think Coffee. It’s by NYU. I’m supposed to be working, but I am not. I am … wasting time. Watching the homeless guys. This is like nyc’s livingroom. It’s full of broke kids and broken old men. Well. Probably we’re all broken.
Communication has been difficult lately. Lots of failed transmissions. Speaking an alien language without knowing it.
I have things to say to others, which I guess means I’m not ready to die. Good, then.
I hope you’re reading this. I’m not sure who you are, but. Well. I’m comforted by the idea of someone anonymously knowing I exist.
