New York

Here I am in New York, and while I have a number of opinions on the city itself, I’ll only share the opinion on the room I’m staying with you.
I had a choice between two rooms, one on the first floor, that’s hot has a fold out on the floor futon, and is 85 degrees at its coldest or a room on the second floor, with an AC, lots of space to put my packings, and walls that were clearly color coordinated by a female with a good sense of paint colors.
I choose the first, why? I can’t really explain, I just like it so much better, it makes me feel perfect. It’s such a fucked up room in itself. So wrong and messy and hot and unlivable, but it brings out all of my senses at once and it makes me feel amazing. It’s so wrong on the surface and yet so right in its fundamental ways.
I don’t know why.
Maybe it reminds me of who I am as a person, not always agreeable with, but with much potential as a friend.

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