People say I am lucky to live in South Florida. The vibrant colors of life, warm weather, the beach, the sun. But I long for a jungle of slate grey and concrete, where trees are sparse with the exception of those being planted by the foundation Bette Midler backs. With buildings like giants, waiting to crush the existence of human life; that reflect the hazed beauty of a weakened sun. Where the rivers are dirty run-off from restaraunts and rainbowed with slick oil from cool cars and yellow cabs. Trains racing beneath the feet of people speeding on the streets above. "Next stop, Times Square" you can hear the pleasant computerized voice chime from the Subway. Nothing is more beautiful, monotonous, dangerous, and exciting. My heart pounds for the taxi rides at 70 mph through neighborhood streets of the neighboring borroughs of Queens, Brooklyn, Long Island, the Bronx.
While New York is not necessarily the only city I dream to move, it is the only city I have been to outside of Miami. Oh, Miami, the spite of my life; I have grown to loathe the lifestyle. Palm tree used to make me smile, but now they exasperate me in my desire to be anywhere but here.
Don't ask. I don't really know. Enjoy!
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