Dying in Providence

It is a slow death, like a lobster in cold water, the water brought to boil, the brain foggy,  heat and suffocation.  Nothing radical that might sound an alarm- the sound speaks: GET OUT NOW. Instead — self diminishes to blend with the dull surroundings, a natural reaction in a hostile arena. The arena of ankle biters.  Circled by inferiors, a rose choked by weeds–  Weeds are powerful, strong and stupid.  The majority, safety in numbers. They will press on you, flatten you, coax you into submissive sweetness – your reward? Bread crumbs for your hungry ego. Can it be, that I am dying for lack of New York rent money? If this is true, than others, like me. are living a life in hell because they cannot afford New York. Times have changed. There were shitholes to be had, elegant shitholes, available — a mere fifteen years ago. But I am older now, and maybe that’s the problem. I need a larger comfort. But the comfort afforded me in Providence is my death bed. Soft as it may be, it is not worth dying for.


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