pick it up pick it up pick it up
Twenty-seven years of keeping my head on my shoulders and suddenly it's rolling off in all kinds of directions. Suddenly I'm fifteen and crazy in the way I never was when I actually was fifteen. Suddenly I let my emotions take the wheel and steer, and I lean back in the passenger seat, pleased as a baby, and watch the countryside rush by.
Storms rage, as they will. Great waves roll and I am washed along, sometimes pulled into the undertow, slammed into the rough sands at the bottom and landing along the shoreline with salty breath. But for those moments when I catch the surf, when I coast along and am pushed into ecstatic winds and my very toes tingle, for those moments it is all worth it. So I stay in. I let my body get tired and my fingers get pruny. What's a little chill, against the ecstasy of the ride?
Hell I still love you, New York.
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