north from delancey street
If the sight of a wet mirror turns your bowels sour, you have been bitten by brutality. Suffering men with tranquil smiles and Bambi eyes will taunt you from afar. What you need instead of impulsive masturbation is a manic moment of casual chatter with all the booze in town. Silver Ferraris and raucous one-night stands with hummingbird floozies will solve nothing. And we've chosen you to sit between our hyenas and jackals and urinals because only you can murmur futility unknowingly. It is a circus of danger; a death wish you mush accept.
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