The way home

For the first time in years, leaving California was not precluded by excitement and anticipation. Rather, while sitting at gate 47A at LAX, I felt something between numbness and resignation. I was leaving home again, and this time I really wondered why.

Los Angeles. Beautiful beaches. Beautiful weather. Sun tanning in December. Cheap Mexican food. Wonderful friends. People who care whether you are alive or dead. Family.

In the taxi down 5th Ave. in Brooklyn, I looked around at the dingy buildings, the shit-covered snow, the shining lights with hollow meaning, and felt displaced. This place I've called home for two years. This place I've called home in exile. This place has never loved me, and I've always held it at arms length, sniffing around for signs of rot.

But the scarier thing is how these abandoned spaces come to be home- how families are reared, bills are paid, one goes to work in the morning. All this wows me.

Brooklyn. Bills. Rent. Dial tones. And work to do.

Kat La Chatte
New York Shitty
1/10/01

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Email: katlachatte25@hotmail.com