Holy balls I'm in Baltimore, Vol. 1: Oh my god

I'm not used to the view, or the etiquette of city windows. Should I turn the light off if I take off my pants? Should I think it's funny if I don't? Does anybody care? Will I ever know? The sheer anonymity of it all, taken with how densely we're packed into this big fucking hole in the forest that is the northeastern United States, is a reshuffling of context that is bizarre to even think about.

I'm in my new apartment for the first day, for the first night. I feel lethargic. It's dark, and it's quiet. Office and apartment lights are turned off, more every few minutes, and it clears the black of clutter. But not so many that I don't know exactly where I am. I don't hear highways. I just hear crickets, and the fountain the back yard. Which isn't a yard. It's a slab of concrete with two football field-sized yard cut into it. But all I hear is crickets. A siren just went "woo" in staccato bursts like a rave track.

If I were Boswell or Garrison Keillor, I would tell you stories about the move. I may yet. But for now,

It's hot as balls. We're talking like hellish, like record highs for the state of Maryland. I'm in my new apartment for the first night wondering if I want to turn on the air conditioning, even though it should be a total non-issue. I should turn on the air conditioning. I'm pirating internet from somebody, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

More than once I've tried to convince people that I invented the phrase "hot as balls," which is about as close to a lie as you can get without being truthful in some way or another.

"I don't know man, I don't know man, I don't know man, I don't know, I don't know."


nickbujak said...

turn on the ac man, it's hot as balls.

CircleGetSquare said...

hot balls can lead to the inability to procreate. do you think there's a connection?

D said...

live macho, josh.

it's on, nick.