If I did exist I would be depressed
So I’ve been going to the writer’s room. The one thing I love about this place is the view. There is a window that has this awesome view of the empire state building. Right now the lights on it are a dark red, it looks like the end of a used spear.
Or a tampon if I want to be gross.
I’ve been avoiding that window for obvious reasons. So I’ve been over on the other side that overlooks the apartment buildings on broadway and east 8th or so. Try as I might, I’ve been trying to not look into their windows.
But I just can’t help it. Those apartments look so warm, safe, and clean. I would almost say welcoming, but I know better I stand a better chance of hitting the lottery than be invited inside.
For some strange reason I want to be invited inside, I want to enjoy the niceness for ten seconds. I’ll sip wine with the host/hostess, discuss some world event I barely know about. But most of all I’m just curious to see out of their windows.
Don’t know why I want to. For some reason though the only description of the feeling I get now when I look over to those apartments is heart breaking.
Anyway, I need a cigarette and kill a priest fictionally. See you.
