Blackout/Back On

As if the city wasn't beating me down enough, what with the giant cockroaches falling into my bathtub, then Astoria had to blackout worse than a freshman at a keg party, plunging us all into an even stinkier darkness.

Not surprising, really, since when you live in close proximity to 8 million people what can you possibly expect when each and every one of us turns on the AC, watches TV, flips on a fan and blends a smoothie all at the same time.

New York is not a place for the weak of olfactory constitution. You will constantly be bombarded by scents that could have only come from the ass of Satan himself. After about a day without power, David and I literally stewing in our own juices, the air in our apartment standing dead still while manholes exploded outside and powerlines burst into flames, the apartment started to smell like a bag of dead kittens sitting on a pile of rotten asparagus.

It was that time again.

Time to board the Chinatown bus and get out. Away from the steamy smell of festering hot dog water. Away from the swooping pigeons and the panhandlers. Toward the green pastures and open spaces of Maryland. Happy Birthday to Dave (again).

I returned to full power, minus Internet, the apartment still vaguely stinky, now more like a stinky cesspool filled with rotten lettuce. Just another thing to love about life in New York.