NYC is in constant construction. It'll never be finished till it succumbs to the Atlantic Ocean. Shit needs to come down, shit needs to go up. Residing on this island requires that you can adapt to a construction personality. You're not in the mood to change? Better find a sedimentary suburb in Jersey to stagnate in.

I've reached for my fantasy high powered rifle with a precision scope, after being jarred awake by a jackhammer. Can't be immune to noises of the apocalypse. Although some people can sleep through nuclear weapons testing. Fucking slumberific dream factories, I curse you. I lose sleep comtemplating how I would make the upcoming Incredible Hulk movie anyway. My body will give up when it has to.

Barring incidents of being trapped in a taxi during construction caused clogged traffic, I enjoy the machinations of renovation. My favorite is the street saw. The diamond tipped buzzsaw looking blade is at least five feet tall. It vivisections roads like a deli meat slicer spinning off translucent wafers of procuitto. An amazing tumultuos racket shrills from it's efforts. Water jets baste the blade to keep the friction from melting it. Needless to say, it's fucking dope.

Possible that my dedication and comaraderie to NYC is inherantly connected to it's perpetual revolution. I empathise with this urban flux. To say you knew me five years ago is equivalent to asking "who the hell are you?". I'm glad my hood respects the scaffolding connected to me. I'm completely in Gotham's debt for saving my life.