"yorkers" poems
Songs of Oregon: No. 1 “Gonna Make You Crazy, That Place”
nuts, crazy peeps
whomever wherever,
regardless of race creed color or gender (did I get ‘em all?)
current state of residence (geo-identified)
a poem - the very same recited,
as a disclaimer, a yellow finger wagging warning:
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
now kids, I’m a veteran of foreign travel,
many continents, cold and hot, rivers and seas,
some living, some dead,
some so big they named it Endless,
been to the great cities, Swiss villages,
pyramids, climbed Masada,
danced on grapes (why can’t I recall where)
skied the Alps, trekked the Sinai Desert,
clubbed in Rio, and danced till morn,
on a certain Greek Isle that rhymes with Mickey’s Nose
even been to L.A and San Fran, left poorer
but in sync,
always came home
with my mind decently reshaped
me/ a product of gritty unpretty grime,
streets of normal humans
acting like normal escaped mad persons,
this brutal city island instilled a
layer of fat and smog neath my skin,
a kind of migrating duck-like survival kit,
came with a homing beacon included
the those of you who know me,
perhaps too well, ken we citified islanders
love our beaches (fire hydrants)
cherish our sun dappled blessings
upon on farms (window sill herb gardens)
and sunning settlements (rooftops)
they say our tap water is secretly bottled,
sold in places where the springs purportedly
run crystalline
though we don’t got no pinot, just sweet concord grape,
so sweet, the wine of children and street nodders,
needy for instant sugar highs
so as we new Yorkers proudly
say on our license plates,
prove it or stfup!
so a first hand investigation for which
the taxpayers won’t be charged even a lousy mill,
deemed necessary to put to rest this crazy claiming warning
“Don’t go! If you go, you won’t come back”
guessing must be something in the water and the wine
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
The falling stars in this ironic night
make majesties
out of those cubicle-ridden New Yorkers'
routine Tuesday night daydreams,
where they make macabre escape routes
out of every perfectly-placed window
piercing the concrete sentences
that escalate from Ground Zero.
Your law offices,
corporate ******* headquarters,
are all bursting at the seams
with these drones,
the falling stars of the human race,
all composed of 14 different shades
of grayscale;
could've been
should've been
could've been shootin' stars
that year they were promised
lives of upper middle class incomes
and Lexus dealerships
bought to dent their status
on the neighborhood,
but that sparkle's been emaciated
by the truth,
the underwhelming spectacle of realization
accentuated by the clicking
and the clacking of company keyboards,
each little click
gnawing more at their patience
than the next;
the faceless brush strokes
gawk through that window,
their plans less hypothetical
over the calendar years.
"I can hear it calling me
from miles away,"
says Copy #90045280,
"see, they
SPEAK
to me, man,
tell me to transcend
the hurdle of the windowsill
and make my rendezvous
with an asphalt avenue,
to join the other casualties
of this rut-infested nation
in a life with the real stars,
falling and shooting
and jettisoning alike,
throbbing lights through dark sky silk
and into the hearts of even the most
robotic of this catalog culture,
and I frightfully,
excitedly,
must listen."
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
.
There were certain tea--chers--
that came crashing through my mind
like a herd of Buffalo,
New Yorkers.
Peeling, pointing porkers.
Try--ing to remind me--
the atmospheric city,
is not the alphabet, Oh!
Should I move out of Ohi--o?
(Oh me, oh me. Oh, my--O!)
I --
was dissolving,
certain rainy days sort of
had that sad effect on me.
And-- I-- was suspended--
high above a swaying bridge,
holding back the water.
Like old comic books and thunderstorms
crashing down like gravity...
And--
I smelled the smell of moth *****
made me think of someones' grandma.
The empty corners of their closets.
The empty corners of their closets.
And still...
I dream of fly--ing--
high above the alligators
wrestling in an open pit.
While...
an anaconda
drops in uninvited and
squeezes both of them, Oh!
I am not complaining,
just because it's raining.
There were certain tea--chers--
that came crashing through my mind
like a herd of Buffalo,
New Yorkers.
Peeling, pointing porkers.
Try--ing to remind me--
the atmospheric city,
is not the alphabet, Oh!
Should I move out of Ohi--o?
(Oh me, oh me. Oh, my--O!)
I --
was dissolving,
certain rainy days sort of
had that sad effect on me.
And-- I-- was suspended--
high above a swaying bridge,
holding back the water.
And...
.
Mar 28, 2010
Mar 28, 2010 at 5:42 AM UTC
We have a small sculpture of Henry James on our terrace in New York City.
Nothing would surprise him.
The beast in the jungle was what he saw--
Edith Wharton's obfuscating older brother. . .
He fled the demons
of Manhattan
for fear they would devour
his inner ones
(the ones who wrote the books)
& silence the stifled screams
of his protagonists.
To Europe
like a wandering Jew--
WASP that he was--
but with the Jew's
outsider's hunger. . .
face pressed up
to the glass of ***
refusing every passion
but the passion to write
the words grew
more & more complex
& convoluted
until they utterly imprisoned him
in their fairytale brambles.
Language for me
is meant to be
a transparency,
clear water gleaming
under a covered bridge. . .
I love his spiritual sister
because she snatched clarity
from her murky history.
Tormented New Yorkers both,
but she journeyed
to the heart of light--
did he?
She took her friends on one last voyage,
through the isles of Greece
on a yacht chartered with her royalties--
a rich girl proud to be making her own money.
The light of the Middle Sea
was what she sought.
All denizens
of this demonic city caught
between pitch and black
long for the light.
But she found it
in a few of her books. . .
while Henry James
discovered
what he had probably
started with:
that beast, that jungle,
that solipsistic scream.
He did not join her
on that final cruise.
(He was on his own final cruise).
Did he want to?
I would wager yes.
I look back with love and sorrow
at them both--
dear teachers--
but she shines like Miss Liberty
to Emma Lazarus' hordes,
while he gazes within,
always, at his own
impenetrable jungle.
3.2k
"Excuse me ladies
and gentlemen, sorry
for the interruption..."
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC
Christian louboutin NEW YORK, March 12 (Xinhua) -- The Economist Intelligence Unit released here on Monday a new research report showing that New York ranks first in competitiveness among 120 world's major cities. Christian louboutin shoes The report titled Hot Spots ranks the most competitive cities in the world for their demonstrated ability to attract capital, business, talent and tourists. Christian louboutin It highlights New York City's innovative Applied Sciences NYC project, which has resulted in the development of a new applied sciences campus being built on Roosevelt Island, expected to generate 6 billion U.S. Red bottomsdollars in economic activity. Christian louboutin shoes "New York City's position at the very top of this list is no accident: it's due to the investments our Administration has made and the world-famous ingenuity and creativity of New Yorkers," red bottom shoes said New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg. red bottom shoes New data from the New York State Department of Labor showed that New York City is leading the nation in terms of economic recovery, red bottom and the private sector jobs were added at a rate almost 60 percent greater than the country as a whole in 2011. red bottom shoes London was the second most competitive city, followed by Singapore, with Paris and Hong Kong tied for fourth place, according to the report. Among U.S. cities, Washington D.C., Chicago and Boston made the top 10. red bottom shoes
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 6:43 AM UTC
The Empire State Building is a giant middle finger
Concrete is broken, NYPD, taxis racing, red light green light
I enter the hand of the city through it's capillaries breaking mad concrete
Warm gusts of **** grime, and transportation swallow me
The city feeds off dreams and hope which we personally, willingly give up
We all somehow learn to accept this fate
The passerby no longer human but broken mirror
The hand inundates my eyes from breezes of tomorrow
The spacy apartment, and the affluent career and the acquantanceship
Of the handful of New Yorkers that run the hand: all questionable plans today
It's as if the hand's grasp, although sharp and brick, would venerate your intellect, guaranteed
If that's the case, I see wizards of wisdom everyday snoozing on concrete and cardboard and plastic
Bearded, black with dirt and skin, threads ripped by a world inferrior than the one in thier minds
Empire "Middle Finger" State of intellect, scrapping billion dollar clouds
Sardine can subways, escalators, elevators, high on crack **** speed of sound
The cash nerve system meltsdown into golden chips to feed the pigeons
Glass and steel craft spaces for modernity to be sold like a Washington Heights *****
You can feel the growth of the hand at the end of your intestines
It's a warm, uncomfortable vibration revealed in your ********
Foreign tongues buzz through the air, through your hair for 19.95
New York needs a haircut, some profound discipline so we wake up from this bizzare life of welcomed pain
You once charmed me with hopes of culture, open minds, connections, real connections, love and laughter
Yet, Today I am hungry in Murray hill
I am cold in Chelsea
I am broken in Union Square
I ***** in SoHo
I have fallen in the East River
And I bleed on financial monoliths
Someone have mercy on my wills
It is an intention trying to be fulfilled
But failed when it became self-aware
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 11:44 PM UTC
I numbly watch a foreign man
on the train.
He talks across the car to some
New Yorkers who half listen to him
whilst simultaneously eavesdropping
on two Amazonian Jews having an argument:
one claims injustice.
The train crawls on its old, screeching belly.
Molasses moves faster in January,
but it is January and I feel like molasses
I guess the city reflects my thoughts...
The Amazons are now passive aggressive,
I duck my head so they don't know I've listened to the laundry list
of a tell tale sign of exhaustion.
Fatigued, I memorize the line of the page of my empty journal.
Wishing,
Willing
Them to fill with a lively recognizable speed of change.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
he caught her eye across the diner. put a quarter in the jukebox.
told her to choose a song, on him. she giggled and chose
the rolling stones. he said "take a walk with me"
they walked through the woods where the highway had been
before the flood in 1994.
talking like new yorkers talk but softer he took her
hand and he said "let's skip rocks let's get hot"
and soon she couldn't separate the smell of damp grass and sundown
from the smell of ***
he said "let's play car-and-driver" and she told him that the
dented white sedan belonged to a waitress,
the rusty pickup to a cook, the black lexus to a businessman.
he said "you're good at this" and she blushed.
he kissed her very violently on the drive away. the sky was orange
and it drizzled.
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
One thing that get's me all venty
Is bad talk of jolly 'T' 20.
It's much better by half
So much more of a laugh
Because 50 is far more than plenty.
England play Pakistan later.
I think that our players are greater.
But Gul bowls great yorkers,
And other rip-snoters,
And the ball, oh Afridi, he ate her!
For England the openers are wrong
Neither will give it a biff or a ****
We need someone tough
And aggressive enough
To win it for us when on song.
Our bowling is coming on nicely
The spinners are landing it precisely
But the quicks can get hit
When missing length by a bit
Shouldn't do it like that more than twicely
Will we win it today, well who knows?
By then I'll stop blowing my nose.
I'm now on my knees,
So a close contest please.
I cannot wait to see how it goes.
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
Leong's watching TikTok on her laptop (as always) and she asks Lisa (a NYC girl) “Are you familiar with the the “downtown girl” aesthetic?”
Lisa’s dismissive, “Yeah, it just looks like Urban Outfitters grunge to me.”
Leong explains, “It includes headphones and it’s supposed to be a Lower Manhattan style.”
“Yeah,” Lisa snorts, “Because Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side are SO cohesive.”
Lisa considers herself an Uptown girl (like the song) even though 59th Street, where she lives, is the border between Uptown and Midtown Manhattan. I’m learning that these distinctions are culturally key to New Yorkers.
“And,” Lisa adds, “why would someone wear, and lug around, giant, clunky headphones when you can use AirPods??”
“Amen sister.” I proclaim and even Leong nods in agreement.
“Later, Sunny, Leong and I are on a study break, eating salads and talking about who we hope Yale invites to the next “Spring Fling” concert. We aren’t being realistic; we’re covering who we wish would come. I’d named Charlie Puth, “Kat-Tun!” Leong squealed (A Japanese boy band - apparently Chinese girls LOVE their boybands) and Sunny countered with Ed Sheeran.
“I don’t like Ed Sheeran,” I mumbled, making a yuck-face.
“Why no Ed?” Sunny gasps with shock (She’s a big Ed fangirl).
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “he’s a star by all measurable metrics,” I admit, “but,” I fade out.
“You want my theory on Ed hate?” Sunny offered, “He’s beyond talented vocally - whoever your favorite artist is, Ed’s probably not that far behind. He’s a stellar song writer and he’s making hit after hit; do you want my theory?”
“Too basic, too popular?” I guess.
“No, he’s not appealing to the gaze,” Sunny states.
“The gays?” Leong questions, stepping back into the conversation.
“No,” Sunny corrects, “the gaze - G-A-Z-E, he doesn’t try to look pretty all the time.”
“Ha!” I snort, “Gaze, I thought you meant gays too,” as Leong and I chuckle together.
“No,” Sunny laughs, “nothing like THAT. Ed’s just not trying to be a heartthrob, he knows that’s not his core strong point - and that’s why he’s discounted.”
“Like lesbians don’t comb their hair or wear makeup and wear pajamas to class” Leong observes, “they don’t want to attract the male gaze?”
“No, we’re not imbued by the male gaze.” Sunny states, “Ed just wants to lowkey.”
Dec 14, 2022
Dec 14, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
We should throw a party and then
Dump a Trump
Give Trump lumps
Make him jump.
Drag him over the same kind of bumps
He dragged us and laughed at us.
Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump;
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****
We should get together and just
Dump a Trump
Oust that schlump
To the city dump.
Treat him like he treated those before
And send him home on a city bus.
Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump;
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****
Let's call a convention and
Dump a Trump!
He’s a festering clump
As dim as Forest Gump.
New Yorkers call him a stupid ****
We hope all see that he is finally busted
That his former shine is obviously rusted.
Dump a Trump!
Deserves a massive thump!
He’s a whiny grump!
Dump a Trump!
Anyone who has the name of Trump
Should kiss our collective ****
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 6:59 PM UTC
I’m a hypocrite,
I’m full of
Wit?
I’m harmless
But I’m proud,
So I won’t sell my lemonade
To a whisky-drinking crowd.
For those who order
Sweet ice tea -
I say let them drink!
But New Yorkers drink Long Islands
And are more like me, I think.
I know I’m not an Atheist
But me and God don’t talk.
I think he built his watches
And then went for a walk. (4)
The armies go on fighting
Until the reaper wins
Or Armageddon’s curtain falls
Before Act III of the play begins.
The question asked by Hamlet
So many years ago
Today still asked by many,
Still the answer we can’t know:
“To be or not to be?” he asked.
To suffer or to die? And
“Shuffle off this mortal coil”
Leave our loved ones here to cry.
There is beauty all around us
Inside us too, if we but look.
Though we might not like every cake
We can’t crucify the cook.
So eat when you are hungry
And drink when parched and dry.
Live life, for life’s worth living,
You’ll have eternity to die.
Phil Lindsey 6/2/15
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
In the year two-thousand and eight
While running for president
Senator John McCain stated
That we need more nuclear energy,
He stated that nuclear energy,
is safe and friendly to the enviroment.
Nuclear energy, he said is clean
because it doesn't pollute the air.
He said that nuclear energy is the
Wave of the future.
Yesterday, One Twenty-nine Ten. I
read in the newspaper that the state
of Vermont was going to vote on
closing down its nuclear energy plant.
It seems that ever since it began
leaking Tritium (a highly toxic by-product
of nuclear energy) into its drinking
water they've determined a link to
the sudden high rate of cancer.
Tritium has also been found in water
supplies near nuclear plants in
Illinois and New York. But, those
states have chosen not to react.
I think we should wave goodbye to
nuclear plants before everyone will
have to wave goodbye to their future
wrote a song about it
CLEAN TRITIUM
Hey Mr. Senator!
Give us a glass of that
Clean, clean tritium
Cancer's great stuff
We need more of that
Give us clean, clean tritium
Hey all New Yorkers
Illinois and Vermont
Drink up! Clean, clean tritium
No, we can't breathe
But, at least we had that
Not, that clean, clean tritium
How about serving
A bottle to Congress
Drink up! Clean, clean tritium
The House is refusing?
What's all the confusing
It's clean, clean tritium
Mmm it's so tasty
Just like cows from the sixties
Clean, clean tritium
Death is delicious
Who cares what's nutritious
It's clean, clean tritium
Hey Mr. President
You drunk a glass yet?
Clean, clean tritium
Everybody die
It's the only way to fly
It's that clean, clean tritium
He promised us health care
All we have is death here
That clean, clean tritium
Clean Clean Tritium
Clean Clean Tritium
Clean Clean Tritium
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
How cool!
this early summer evening
after a day so oppressive
even we New Yorkers move painstakingly.
The breeze in sumac trees
so why am I not more content?
The electricity went off at the bank,
spontaneous bank holiday,
so I'm broke, drinking water.
All my needs except love
fulfilled. Woman
opens her windows. How cool!
this summer evening
in New York, dense New York
the jets overhead
the people on the ground suffering
and struggling toward vague goals
or goals clear as Harry Helmsley's.
How cool and refreshing
this glass of ice water
after today's hot pavement, clothes.
During the afternoon heat
I sleep in my underwear.
What a city I murmur to myself
looking at its map. Big,
Jamaica Bay to Inwood,
the Battery to Pelham Bay.
Nowadays novels need
a few cities to move the plot.
New York, Saigon, Paris.
The protagonist
does not walk in the park. He
uses his car to get around fast.
How cool this evening in New York!
Lost among the bars and industry,
moonrise over Bronx.
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
Living in NEW YORK CITY and going to tar beach
For most NEW YORKERS this was a treat.
Taking your beach chairs, towels, and blankets
And a radio to the roof.
Some would come up with shirts and pants
As the roofers began to dance.
Listening to ALLEN FREED, COUSIN BRUCIE, and **** CLARK
And seeing the treetops in the park.
We did not need to go to concerts downtown
All you had to do was look around.
We would lie on the blankets taking in the sun
Or dancing to the music and having lots of fun.
We would gather as groups and start to harmonize
With every roof joining in – it is easy to visualize.
A crescendo of voices floating in the air
With people looking out their windows
And their voices they would share.
A water hose connected to an apartment below
Where we could cool off and water balloons to throw.
You could take your suburbs, your farms and little towns
But nothing to compare to the NEW YORK CITY sounds.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
Our temperate country roasts and burns flesh
with Apple devices cheerfully
advising that the temperature is
currently a three dicey digit affair
walk in the 100 degree overheating
atmosphere, where sluggish slugs,
once mobile New Yorkers, search and save shady places that proffer
a handful of degrees relief from the
brutalist sun, who was heard smirking after a wet Juno,
"oh yeah,
I'm back baby with the vengeance
of a squalling and squabbling infant!"
and to harmonize on our lack of immunity from the terrors of weather, and yes, it's still June, the quiet nighttime skies awake us a thunderous slapping of sheeted rain, squalling and squabbling,
rat-a-tat large caliber bullet/droplets drilling holes in our
template temples expecting early
morning serenity;
the Newspaper rags in search of pithy witty declaim:
Rainstorms To Crack The Heat Dome In NYC
neglecting the cracking of tempest tossed tempers,
furthy discombobulated composure
of forced sheltering in place
more, again, uhh,
as if parched thirst or drowning are a choice
ok rant over!
the displeasure was all mine
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 4:30 PM UTC
The gates open,
the Masses rush through,
flowing like water and filling all space,
I am last on the train,
And just barely,
the gates slam my sides to remind me that I almost missed my ride.
There is a gloom in the air and it tastes like disappointment,
Kind of like when you leave French toast out too long after breakfast has been served,
It's old and stale and just not as it should be.
Long faces run for miles down the aisles,
every space in between is filled with resentment and bitterness,
This is not a feeling but a truth for New Yorkers on a long train ride home.
Amidst this gloom,
Rises a cheery little voice,
At first it's very faint,
Like a mouse amongst worlds,
But it begins to rise and grows more confident with every spoken word.
Wrapped in a violently pink scarf and topped with a baby blue hat with arms dangling down to her shins,
This voice construes words so simple and pure that the average heart can't help but to smile.
Even the tough souls,
The real down-on-their-luckers,
smirk and snicker as she reads.
The hero falls,
She cries out with angst!
The hero rises,
She cheers!
By now she has a following of non-admitters,
gently leaning in to hear more,
Because that's what they're coming to see,
To put face to the E Train Angel they’ve heard so much about,
The story is stock and so are it's characters,
They have been used and reused to fit every sequence,
We all know them well,
But for her it is real and true,
and it is not just a story,
but her story.
She reads on,
Words flowing from her lips like the sweetest song,
No lyrics and all melody,
She sings,
And by now the whole train is listening,
Even those many carts away,
can here a faint whisper of something warm and sweet.
The train rolls into station,
and our little angel rises to depart,
Hearts hit the floor,
a sound echoes through the train,
and it's something that can only be described as gray,
A fleeting moment of nostalgia has been abruptly ended.
Gloom soon sets in as she heads for the open doors,
Bodies disperse in front of her like a parting sea,
Slow and steady, and with minor hesitation,
they move to let her pass.
She's gone.
And what more can I say than I am glad that I caught the Train that day.
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
The bricks and sidewalks still remain though every other thing has changed.
Our City teetered on collapse as pimps and prostitutes worked Times Square.
That long hot summer of Seventy five, ere Disneyfication happened there.
When fear ruled these streets and crime rode the subway trains.
The bricks and sidewalks still remain though every other thing has changed.
Fun City’s last mayor had packed and left, the sad faced accountant now held the reins.
Along the Bowery vacant eyed drunks panhandled passersby for change
And squeegee men collected tolls on all the bridges.
The bricks and sidewalks still remain though every other thing has changed.
Working and Middle class New Yorkers fled the mounting crime and social strain
Open enrollment disrupted schools as educational standards went down the drain
And FALN placed a bomb in Fraunces Tavern.
The bricks and sidewalks still remain though every other thing has changed.
Then real estate sold for a song; there were so many vacant lots.
Fires up in the Bronx had consumed whole City blocks.
That year the Yankees played their games in Queens.
The bricks and sidewalks still remain though every other thing has changed.
Gerald Ford told the City to drop dead when Beame went to him hat in hand.
Midnight cowboys plied their trade, strangers in a stranger land.
In Yonkers, a deranged young man was taking cues from a black dog.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
Cliché Walking-
His hands jittered
Struggled to zip his
khaki colored jacket
Her eyes remained
On his pained face
Observing through contacted
Magnifying lenses
Somehow their eyes met
Past the jammed crossway
The cluttered New York street
Through the busy cars
And zesty pedestrians
With spill-able coffees
And steamy attitudes
Somehow their eyes met
And the air froze
Still as the desert
Although the air doesn’t freeze
‘Least not in the middle of spring
Although the desert is attacked by constant wind
The silence was like a pin drop
Or something to that effect
Although with the zooming cars
And obnoxious New Yorkers’
It couldn’t have been like so.
And they knew
They just knew
Love at first sight
And all that jazz
Without even knowing
They knew.
He was her Humphrey Bogart
Whoever in heaven’s name that is
And she was his Audrey Hepburn
‘Cause he seemed like the kind that’d know her
And so this, the cockyspaniel
And the chickyhuahua
Crossed the street
And met each other
Halfway…
Right there
In the middle of it all
Cars honking, women screaming
And they swore to the depths of hell
That people clapped and whooped
Because the STD filled kiss
Was Shakespeare inspired
Cosigned, even
And the love was tragic as ever
But hey
What did he say again?
All is fair in love and war and all that hooplah
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
"Coco, Mango, Cherry, Rainbow"
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 9:00 AM UTC
"A, B, C, D, 1, 2, 3,
4, 5, 6, 7, E, F, M
G, L, N, Q, AND R
TRAINS ARE NOT RUNNING.
WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE
INCONVENIENCE..."
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
"Do you have an extra swipe?"
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:57 AM UTC