Felony

Tonight I ventured out on a horrible escapade, hunting through Manhattan like a dehydrated sojourner in the Sahara. I ripped through the city, stopping off time to time to buy a treat like it was some illegal drug—and yet, it was worse because none of my purchases were illegal and no one was going to arrest me for taking a hit of a brownie or slice of pizza.

No one cares. Everyone from store clerk to homeless guy is smiling at you—courteous as hell as you order your hot slice. I wanted to say, “STOP ME for GOD’s SAKE! LOOK at what I am doing! LOOK at what I am DOING right now. Aren’t you going to STOP ME??????” But instead, I smile back and hide my contorted grimaces for fear that they will see the real ugly witch in me, boiling and troubling over their pizza. I’m in my own illicit universe, where I’ve handpicked what’s legal and illegal to use. And I, ironically, am the only one responsible.

I wander the streets and temptations lure everywhere in sight. Like a crack-addict, I can’t avoid the lights, the scents, the sounds— everything and everyone is a danger zone. I am my own danger zone. While others have to meet in alleys and look over their shoulders, experiencing the thrill of ‘the escape’ as they’ve broken the law and slipped away from authorities, I can consume my drug in broad day-light and no one gives a $#@%. No one is going to pull me over and ask why I was mutilating myself right there, walking in the middle of the street.

WHY, pizza store clerk, were you so nice to me as I purchased that slice and looked dead into your trusting eyes? “Yes, Miss? How can I help you? Anything else, Miss? What else can we do for you? Is that all, MISS? THANK YOU, MISS!”

It's only pizza, right? RIGHT? WRONG. It's this whole easy-world we've created. And it's such a big fat convenient piece of... pizza.