sites of injection

Someone is always frying something in the apartment upstairs. I hear that sizzling, bubbling sound in the morning, and in the evening, too. I'm thinking that can't be healthy. I'm picturing batter of some kind dropping into hot oil. Foreign breads I've never tasted, frying up all golden and crispy. It's comforting somehow, that sound, that image. I hear it when I'm in the bathroom with the window open. The window that opens to the airshaft, not the lake. I guess they hear me flushing. I hope they don't mind. But I do have a view of the lake if I lean out of the windows facing the street and turn to the left. Apparently, part of getting ready for Pride includes Botox injections. They're advertising $250 per site. I would do it, but I've got too many possible sites, so I probably can't afford it. I mean, I definitely can't afford it. Yesterday, I was thinking of moving to back to the city. To some hotel, the Sweden House. It looks kinda cute, not SROy, but do I really want to give up my bathroom and kitchen(ette) just to be back in the city. Why am I poor? That's what I'd really like to know. Maybe I should ask my formerly, and still, mostly, estranged family for money. That's probably what they're expecting and lord jesus knows they owe me big time. But honey, THEY can't afford it. But I'm not going to ask them. I don't want their jesus money. And why am I longing for the city anyway? Didn't I move to Oakland to escape that shit? All those dead ends burnt bridges bad memories. And that apartment with the shared bathroom covered in mold because whoever designed it thought a window that actually opened wasn't necessary. I moved to escape and now I want to move back to escape but I can't afford to escape anymore. I'm walking as broke-ass faggoty bitch for the fifty-third time and I'm hoping to finally win a trophy. Now I'm saving all my love for new york city. It's sounds perfect, right? After I graduate, I'll move to new york, become a new yorker once and for all. Get rid of all my shit, pack a few choice items, board that plane all airy and weightless. Step on the gas, I've got to get the fuck out of dodge. Flying fantasies, those are the best. And I'm talking about flying coach, not with feathered wings. But Arnold wants to cut grants for college students from the budget. That reagan wannabe. That charleton heston look-a-like. Maybe I'll never graduate, maybe I'll live in oakland forever, maybe I'll always be sad. But guess what motherfuckers, I've already won.