Jack Fisher
City of Nightmares
New York, the city of dreams, right? Wrong. I have lived in my “luxury” New York apartment building on 139 East 70th street for about six months now. I have been graced with belligerent language and overpriced...well, everything. It smells a lot worse than Chicago here, but I will admit, New York has a certain aura that pulls you deeper into its captivating chaos that it is so well-known for. One might think I moved all the way here for obvious reasons, but in actuality, I’m not some boy who has ventured from home in pursuit of a life that enticed me to pursue some unattainable wealthy lifestyle on the Upper East Side. I was forced here. Actually, it is safe to say that I fled here.
There are very few things in this complex world that I am sure of, but I am absolutely positive of two disconcerting truths: the first, pan-style pizza is a delicacy that New York will never know of since they keep promoting flimsy, thin, pieces of pizza that resemble a sad watered-down dog after a begrudgingly forced bath. The second, something sinister has attached itself to me back in my hometown. …show more content…
I guess one could say I was being haunted, but this was different. It started randomly one day, after the eighteen years I had already been living in my hometown, middle-class, house. It did not target my family, or my dog, or even my friends when they would prance around my home, unconscious of the atrocity lurking through the floorboards and rough drywall. It only wanted me. It only subjected me to a paranoid anguish. I remember the day it all started, none of them ever believed
City of Nightmares
New York, the city of dreams, right? Wrong. I have lived in my “luxury” New York apartment building on 139 East 70th street for about six months now. I have been graced with belligerent language and overpriced...well, everything. It smells a lot worse than Chicago here, but I will admit, New York has a certain aura that pulls you deeper into its captivating chaos that it is so well-known for. One might think I moved all the way here for obvious reasons, but in actuality, I’m not some boy who has ventured from home in pursuit of a life that enticed me to pursue some unattainable wealthy lifestyle on the Upper East Side. I was forced here. Actually, it is safe to say that I fled here.
There are very few things in this complex world that I am sure of, but I am absolutely positive of two disconcerting truths: the first, pan-style pizza is a delicacy that New York will never know of since they keep promoting flimsy, thin, pieces of pizza that resemble a sad watered-down dog after a begrudgingly forced bath. The second, something sinister has attached itself to me back in my hometown. …show more content…
I guess one could say I was being haunted, but this was different. It started randomly one day, after the eighteen years I had already been living in my hometown, middle-class, house. It did not target my family, or my dog, or even my friends when they would prance around my home, unconscious of the atrocity lurking through the floorboards and rough drywall. It only wanted me. It only subjected me to a paranoid anguish. I remember the day it all started, none of them ever believed