Hope is radical, and New York City is full of it.
I am plagued by dirty knickers. Not those lingering in the washing basket for weeks because you’ve had “no time” to do the laundry, nor the pair you’re wearing to spare the Uber driver a flash of your still-engorged clitoris after a one-nighter. I’m haunted by these underwear because they’ve been smothering my crotch…