(yes, those are bars on my window because i live in a prison, & by prison i mean ghetto 'hood)
i have this foreboding sense of doom that i'm going to die soon. i don't know why, or where it's coming from. Maybe it's the dreary weather. Maybe it's the sounds of projectile vomiting surrounding me. Maybe it's the crazy homeless people of New York city who feel compelled to hit on me lately. Or maaaybe it's because i've got class from 3-6, & then work at 11 PM - 4 AM tonight, for which i've got to traverse through freezing snow & ice... clad in a little black dress.
Nah, it might just be my period & the hormonal fluctuations makin' me feel all weird inside. Damn ovaries & womanhood.
My heater is still leaking sporadically, & if i didn't go to bed with my winter jacket, & 3 layers of blankets, i'd probably have pneumonia by now. This lack of proper heating could be one of the reasons my roomie went back home yesterday, after pukin' up her virus all morning. The people upstairs came down with something, too. One time i was in the bathroom, & directly overhead me i heard coughing, & more barfing noises. You know what makes you feel really sexy? Hearing the disembodied sounds of vomiting when you're just freshly out of the shower, dripping wet, & naked. Ohhhh yeeeeah.
As for the city's crazies, everyone's got at least one good story about 'em. One time i was waiting for my train, & an elderly black couple sat next to me. The man had the most awesome voice, like what Louis Armstrong or Tom Waits would sound like after 30 years of downing absinthe, & smoking rocks outta crack pipes. To contrast him, his wife had a very high-pitched sweet, old lady voice. & this dialogue ensued:
Woman: "Do you want some candy?"
Man [looks at her blankly]: "... NO!"
W: "Why you so meeeean to me?"
M: "YOU MAH CANDY. MAH CANDY'S NAME IS JANICE"
& Janice giggles like a giddy schoolgirl while i'm trying to hold in my laughter.
What a slick, sweet-talker; almost as slick as this disheveled veteran that approached Shraga, Reb, & me during lunch on Tuesday. The senior citizen started talking about how he has Tourette's, & that's why he's into psychology. Said he likes talking to young people because it makes him feel not so old & cranky. Asked me if i was "full bred" (???), & then talked about how he was stationed in the Philippines, before he got shipped to Korea to fight in the war. He then asked me if i was in the girl scouts, because i was wearing a boy scouts jacket.
"Why are you wearing that? You're not a boy! Are you?"
"Maybe, i could be a boy-girl. You never know". Then Shraga tells him i'm really a boy. The geezer mumbles something about being a doctor, & that he could check to see, & walks away. WTF!? Did he just hit on me? "Totally, he just offered to undress you." Before i can register how gross that is, he comes back, & says "You know, for a boy you're not so bad looking. For you..." leans in closer to the table "I might even ..." leans in a little more closer, "turn into a homosexuaaaal". i told him it was the sweetest thing i've ever heard, & then he proposed we go hiking so i could earn a badge to put on my jacket. What a romantic! haha
Yeah, Reb & i are preeetty sure that he's killed someone.
& as for what i'm doing living the hard knocked life of night time hustlin'; i'm neither strippin' nor pushin'!!! & that's all anyone needs to know for now.
