And this is like sandwich
which coasts a couple of bucks, like cheap bacon,
like this green indeceses in every street.
All his paints spilled on his corners, and i’m feelin’ it, distinctly.
Again and again i try to lose myself in NYC. I hide away from American dream, which hides on red strips and white stars.
Further, beyond, where city looks like in black and white.
Where nyc reflected in Woody Allen’s glasses.
There is a lot of smoke.
He’s infinite and on the repeat.
Recur like routes,cars, buses, taxi.
He boils it, boils like new dish which will be served one of the hotels plaza. Like all caps on the first page of the new york times.