Wednesday, March 09, 2005


I don't think I've specifically complained about New Jersey lately, and that's because Hoboken feels like home. Even when a drunken girl lurches in front of my dog during her Patrick's Day bar crawl, I feel kindly, because she's going to say: "Hey, that's a cute dog." The drunk boys cheerfully shout, "Hey, I bet your dog could kick my ass."

And they would all be right.

But it would happen to be on one of those days I'm missing both Brooklyn and feeling like I have no way of finishing my current short story that I read this on a blog:

Michael currently resides in Brooklyn and is writing a novel about a man who suspects himself of stealing his girlfriend’s bras.

And I, who wrote a short story in a Brooklyn brownstone about a girl who shoplifted her first bra in a department store while her mother picketed outside, feel...homesick?


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