Sunday, November 18, 2007

Diary of a Bushwick Bedbug, 1

Well hello there, you sweet, tasty thing. Where’d you come from? I bet with that snow white skin, the Belle and Sebastian record playing on repeat on your ipod as you slept and the pimples on your chubby liltte dumper, you’re from Minnesota. I don’t know why. Let me just throw Minnesota out there. What the hell?

You’re cute. And you taste good too—like you just went organic two, three months ago when you got to New York for college and your roommate turned you on to the chemical free life. But there's still that residual growth-hormone-laden cheese flavor. Maybe that's how I came up with Minnesota. Ah, what do I know? I wonder how long you been in the neighborhood.

Me? I been here for a while. That is, my people been here a while. Though they ain’t exactly people. You just set me up pretty good for a week, maybe ten days. Actually, if need be, I can survive on that little meal for 10, 12, maybe even 18 months, since you’re organic and all. And I can see I didn’t hardly leave no mark either, so you may not even notice I bit you at all. Sweet!

What’s that? You object to me calling this neighborhood Bushwick? East Williamsburg, you say? Hey, that’s got a nice ring to it. You go ahead and call it that if you want. I don’t mind. Sounds kind of exotic to me. I mean, Bushwick is what I always called it, but don’t let me stop you.

Thing is, the neighborhood’s been getting so interesting lately. Lots of variety. I bit a Japanese kid last week when he was sitting in that little café with the cushy chairs and reading that art magazine. He tasted like ginger. And a week before that, I bit some guy with a beard who was riding a fixed gear bike when he left his apartment. The walls of that place were all lined with funky looking canvases with string and shit hanging off ‘em. He tasted sort of like an olive mixed with a smoky humus, if that makes sense. Very rich.

I don’t know. Some of the locals are complaining, but I like what’s happening to the neighborhood. All this delicious new blood—so tasty, so adventurous. It’s nice. A bedbug could get used to this kind of variety. I think I like gentrification.

Anyway, I gotta crawl back into the baseboard since the sun’s getting ready to come up again.

See you soon, sweety.


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