Dere’s no guy

Livin’

That knows Brooklyn

Because it’d

Take a lifetime

Just to find

His way

Around the fucking town

— Thomas Wolfe,

Only the Dead Know Brooklyn

What do you do when you’ve washed out of:

The cops?

The priesthood?

You do.

Drugs

And

Jameson.

I was in such a state of despair that I drank Protestant whiskey.

Black Bushmills.

I drowned myself in the Hasid area of Williamsburg. Something about the fundamental neighborhood of Hebrew conversation spoke to the hellfire basis of my Catholicism.

Does that make sense?

Only if you apply Irish logic with Brooklynese riding point.

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