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About New York City

A routine sleepover

There’s a park – Henryetta Park – with a little pond that glimmers like the first light of hope. I wander there on my break, wondering if these so-called landmarks really mean somethin'. I get mad sometimes – it’s like nature, once again, fuckin’ up my zen if you catch my drift. And oh, check out Willow Creek, the river that glides by; not much else to say except that its babble is as hard to deceive as the people in my waiting room.

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