This city is a joke, and the joke’s on me. Party people throughout the building. Tourists and shoppers on the weekend.  Cars and motorcycles screaming by at night, and buses by day. The people are squeezed, and public services have no funding. Can the police help me? Can the bus company help me? I barely got food assistance and I had to appeal my disability. Are these people really going to do anything to protect MY interests?

City life here is nightmarish. The arts are held hostage by a cage of homelessness, gun violence, and public health hazards. And there sure are hazards – potholes, screaming vehicles, construction sites, just to name a few. I’m supposed to appreciate the history? The affluence? The neighborhood charms? Give me a break. Why the rich choose to live here is beyond me. Cafes are quaint, but they’re loud and cramped. Public transportation is gross, loud, and unreliable. Parking is expensive and quite a maneuver to pull off. Clothing stores are here, but they’re for small people with money. I’m neither of these things. The highways and bridges are oddly designed and require experience just to survive without hitting anyone, and then when you do, all you have to look forward to is traffic and aggressive drivers. I feel bad that I may never enjoy the museums and the theaters, the galleries and the schools. This place sells itself as a furnace of learning and creativity, but all I’ve seen in the four years I’ve lived here are social inequalities and bombastic, disruptive events. The biggest benefit I’ve gotten for living in this city has been the access to good healthcare and psychotherapy, but I think it only serves to mitigate the damage from living here. I’ve never had a job and I’m terrified of committing myself to new people and new situations, but I have to get out of here.