When you're here just for a few days, you think, "Oh wow, what a fun place to be!"
So many good restaurants, museums, shows, and smart and talented people.
You think, "It must be great to live here."
And then you move here and you can't walk down the sidewalk because there are mountains of trash bags everywhere.
Seriously, they're blocking the sidewalk and the smell makes you throw up.
After you throw up, you walk into the street since you can't walk on the sidewalk.
A cab hits you.
You're on top of the hood of the car holding onto the wipers and the cabbie looks at you and starts beeping.
The cabbie rolls down his window. "Get off my fucking hood," he says.
"You fucking hit me with your car," you say.
"You shouldn't have been walking in the fucking street," the cabbie says.
"I was in the fucking bike lane," you say.
Now, out of spite, you decide to stay on the hood of the car. You were going this way anyways.
"The fucking meter is running," the cabbie says.
"Fuck you," you say.
"Fuck you," the cabbie says.
When you get to your destination, you get off the hood of the car.
"Do you take fucking credit cards?" you say.
"Yeah, of course, what is this fucking 1995?"
The cabbie drives off.
Shit, your phone.
You put it on the windshield wiper when you were hanging onto the hood since you were scrolling Instagram.
Good luck getting that back.
You start crying.