26 REDS & A BOTTLE OF WINE

Some days I love living in NYC. I love the museums, I love being able to walk to see any movie that's in release and some that aren't. I love walking in and out of art galleries. I love the music scene and the fact that every band in the world MUST come through this town. I love that they dump a giant pile of copies of the New York Times in the lobby of my building ever morning but mostly I love that I can call a guy and have sushi, pizza, lo mien, a bag of pretzels, bottled water and a pack of condoms delivered to my apartment at two a.m.

But then sometimes a wanna quit the whole scene as settle down and run this gas station. Can you imagine me sitting in there writing all day. People would drive through from town just to say hi and we'd sit and talk about what Ed did this week or about the Johnston’s farm. If strangers drove through and needed directions I'd say" Let me google that for ya." In the afternoon I'd go fishing and at night I'd play chess against myself and listen to Joni Mitchell albums.

My best friend would be Carl, a sixty year old ex-math teacher who writes op/ed pieces for local papers and lives here. I’d go visit him on Thursdays, my day off, and we'd drinks Coors out of cans, listen to Pet Sounds and bitch about the local government.

I think I would be happy.