I’m on Swoomer’s rooftop somewhere around 5th Avenue in Brooklyn.

A man gets icky germs and dirt all over his hands while propping himself up as waits for the Queens-bound train at Gates Ave.

A vintage porn display device rests curbside, awaiting pickup by New York Sanitation.

I will testify!

Though I’m not sure if this means BOGUS LIVES like “¡Viva Bogus!” or like “people in this neighborhood lead a fraudulent life built on artifice, all that is supporting their unstable façades from crumbling are the lies they tell themselves about their self worth, fortifications of which, like sandbags stacked to a levee wall, are internal validations made through the purchase of designer consumer goods they endlessly acquire in an inescapable, unfulfillable, state of bottomless want, where spending more is being more, motivated to meet the standards they believe those around them, whose lives are equally as misguided, uphold.”