I got tossed out of the apartment. Not really, but my lady friend(LF) got all upset when I asked the pizza guy to change the channel. I mean, he’s a “grown man” and he watches cartoons. I even asked him nicely. I said, “Yo, f–khead, put on Yankee’s Replay.” And my LF made a face and then it was like thirty seconds later—after an amazing dramatic pause—her eyes laying the guilt all over me, before she said, Baldie, you have to learn to control what comes out of your mouth.

But it’s THE VIRUS.

The stupid thing has me on edge. Our apartment smells like Lysol and I feel like a moron wearing a mask when I go out. (Yeah, my LF makes us all wear one now.) None of the other mofos in the hood have them on. When I’m wearing that stupid thing I can’t get my punk rock on. Especially when I’m being follow by num and nuts. I got this look that says I’m ready to kick it. No one ever suspects those knuckleheads of being with me. But wearing the mask, I might as well have a bright orange “L” painted on my dome.

Btw, I’m at the main branch of the public library on 42nd Street. This place rocks. Did you know you could rent this place out for a party. A reading party. Yeeeaaah.

On the way back, I’m thinking about passing by Bellevue and picking up some more roommates . . . If I don’t delete that line and my LF sees it, there are going to be a lot more posts from here.

But the virus is the reason why I thought that. Because I really am a saint. I mean, I live in NYC, and I see what terrible crap people get into. And I’m not talking about the zipper squad. I’m talking about “normal” people. They really can suck. I don’t suck, ever.

I really am Saint Bald Punk.

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Here are all the posts in this series: Third Episode – April/May 2009 (The Swine Flu/Punk Poetry)

Stuck in the apartment post

Saint Bald Punk here – Blogging from the NYPL

This Weekend’s A Total Wipeout

Punk Poetry

The Einstein Equation!

Hands At Night

Here are my STORIES and info on my Novels