Plugged InYou sweat your way through summer, searching for a room: walkups in the hundreds, flea-pits in Alphabet City. Nobody in this town sweats or eats a damned thing either. You feel the heft of fat sag over your shorts. When the leaves turn, you graduate from a borrowed couch to a small, shared place by the river with a smaller room. Your own. The air has cooled and you watch the runners, see flyers for a restaurant further down the block promising ill beats and good vibes. You want to sweat still. In the cool of a new morning, you shun the elevator, take the stairs out, into the fresh, crisp air. You put in headphones, hear the beat of your new city: join the flow of humanity in all its amazing shapes and hues as it huffs and shuffles, sprints and glides along the river. You move, plugged in.
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