My ass is sticking to a wooden chair, cheeks glued firmly to the seat by my own fluids. I'm in the boiling hot current apartment of my future roommates, can't move into my new place 'cause they're dropping down new carpets. It's a three-story brick building shoved unceremoniously into the armpits of two other brick buildings. I love it.
The street is small and quiet, bright window boxes spilling flowers, a myriad of colors twinkling down the street. I plan on shoving as many bunches of fake flowers into my dusty collection of wine bottles as I can, and plonking them down on every available surface in my room.
I used to live in State College, PA, home of Penn State University, the Nittany Lion, and incalculable numbers of sweaty drunken mongoloid freshman. I graduated from the university two years ago, then bummed around from job to job, hoping and praying for some beam of genius to burst through the clouds and penetrate my molding brain. No such lucky luck luck.
So. A change of perspective. A new set of beaten-down sidewalks for me to traverse. I'm gonna peel my ass of this sweaty chair and take a breath of Philadelphian air. It'll probably smell like cheesesteaks and crackheads, but I'll risk it.
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