More “Living In La La Land” on Tapastic.
Humid. Human salt rubbing into the scars, scabs and bites that mar my arms and shoulders. This is how I came up with a bedbug as the ultimate symbol of housing-security pestilence, and thus, representative of landlords and gentrifiers. I was put on the spot today when a group of us were painting signs for the affordable housing march Thursday.
The studio space a local community center had donated was not ventilated and the heat sweltered even more there, puckering cardboard and paper. I eventually left around 6 PM sweating and smelling like I’d spent the day in a gym. The man sitting next to me on the subway seemed to notice as well. He didn’t say anything. But at my stop when I stood up to leave he turned and lowered his face. Not over me. Over the sweat V-print left behind on the plastic seat, where my minidress thighs and ass had pressed.
Summer arriving in New York City. The perverts emerge like cicadas.
Lick it up, why don’t you pendejo.