i’m walking along sidewalks and 
i’m dog ear-ing books and i’m certainly not here to make friends
i’m holding hostages to tell sophomoric stories with neither plot nor punchline
i’ve all the anxious insecure energy of a man raised a small town fire sign, preening and self-absorbed and superior, and
i’m spending it in shops like it's a soho salary
so that i may narrowly afford the chance to attend the worst parties in new york city and be
a nice outfit with nothing to say