Well, I
– Bought a season pass to the comedy club “The Tiny Cupboard” and have gone to 3 shows
– Made 15 posts (16 counting this one) on my blog; a mix of 5 (soon to be 6) new illustrations, creative writing, creative fictional writing, photos taken by me
– Have recorded 54 memos, some of them: sounds from various public places, cafés, subways. Some of them: conversations/interviews on artistic practice, work- or living situation. Some of them: soundbites from cultural experiences like stand-up sets, museums, clubs etc.
– Named all of the above-mentioned memos
– E-mailed 3 theatres requesting a meeting
– E-mailed 2 personal contacts multiple contacts, asking for introduction to theatre related contacts whom I haven’t yet met
– E-mailed other people who I think can help me on my creative endeavors
– Have participated in 2 rehearsals of a solo dance performance as consultant/friend
– Have participated in 2 online masterclasses, observing
– Have had 2 (soon to be 3) personal meetings with my teacher-to-be, discussing the process of the upcoming masterclass and my role in the course
– Have started to develop SoMe-strategy and content for ^ teacher
– Participated in The Moth-event at venue: The Cutting Room
– Participated in weekly work-night at a 150-year old private theater club and discussed future participation in the community
– Participated in booklaunch-event, asked a question in the Q&A and got to have a conversation with my favourite author afterwards
– Went to outdoor concert arranged by St. Ann’s Warehouse on the lawn under The Brooklyn Bridge
– Went to Cooper-Hewitt museum to see “An Atlas of Es Devlin”-exhibition
– Went to the Whitney museum to see the Biennial 2024 “Even Better Than The Real Thing”
– Have read “Such a Fun Age”, “Come and Get It” and started “Just Kids”
– Have bought subscription to The New Yorker and received my first edition
– Went to B&H and bought camera battery charger + shotgun microphone to have everything I need in order to start creating videos
– Went to (to me) iconic locations of where they shot “Mr. Robot” and started re-watching the show again. (Coney Island, Church Avenue Subway Station, E. Broadway)
Not counting:
All the clubs I’ve been to
All the people I’ve met
All the people I’ve seen
All the buildings, birds, abandoned bike locks, cars parked in insane places, smoke ascending from metal grids on sidewalks, full moons, 2-dollar shoes in huge stores, tattoos, the homes I’ve visited, the dogs and cats and more dogs I’ve seen and talked to and touched, the mosaics on subway stations, the reflection of clouds on skyscrapers, grey squirrels, rats, cockroaches, affirmative quotes on mugs, rich people, cool people, poor people, white people, black people, brown people, other people, small people, tall people (few),
Deli-signs,
wifi-passwords (Coldbrew, 12344321 etc.),
trash bins, trash bags, piles of trash bags,
people systematically entering the gate to “my” outdoor-area in front of building, smiling and letting me know that they’re about to check the bins for empty cans and bottles,
Chanel-earrings I wouldn’t be able to tell apart from fake ones but I think they were real based on the determination to get the specific picturesque toast from the cafés website picture,
conversations about perhaps not voting because none of them are acceptable, not even now,
long distance relationships,
queer bars and gentrified safe spaces,
conversations on gentrification,
subwaying by a mural reading “RIP BUSHWICK”
the side of a truck reading “New York is the end of your past and place of rebirth”
$1.50 pizza slices (only cheese topping)
haircuts
total abdominal crunch machine at gym,
suits, skirts, pink hair, breakdancing on subway, the same man playing the saxophone on Canal Street Subway, the same fire hydrant brokenly sprinkling water for weeks and weeks
possible weeks and months
is there an adult present?
are we it?
let’s get cracking, Katinka,
keep up the good work, Katinka,
yes it is work, Katinka.
You live here now
this is not a vacation
you’re here to do something
anything, but definitely not nothing,
you are doing it
and it counts 367 words and all that those words represent
that’s what you’ve been doing, Katinka,
not counting the not counted
Next time you’re feeling down,
impatient
a bit useless and
a bit lost
count those as well
Category: Writings
-
-
Hi.
This is my first The Moth-event;
I moved to New York City a month ago, to involve myself in the world of theatre. Theatre is what I do back home in Copenhagen, Denmark, where I’m from.
The story I’m going to tell you guys tonight is about a performance I directed, called “Rejected (full stop)”.
Actually, it was called “Afslag.”, but for the purpose of you lot, it was called “Rejected.”
On January 22nd, 2023, I was sat at the box office of the historical landmark in the center of the city that I worked at at the time. My screen lit up, and I saw that the e-mail from the Danish National School of Performance Arts had finally arrived.
I had a bad feeling.
This was a few days after Miley Cyrus had released “Flowers”, so I waited until I was off from work, went outside and found the nearest flower stand. I figured – if this is the bad kind of e-mail, I’ll buy myself a bouqet and somehow feel better.
I opened the e-mail, and yes, correct, the we-regret-to-inform-you-email had arrived into my life FOR THE 12TH TIME.
I bought lilies, cried a lot and got way too drunk, all according to plan.
I kept the flowers and later dried them in an atlas, somehow knowing they would come to mean something, anything, at some point. 5 months later I would open the book, dust them off and put them in the performance.
But before that happened, a few days after the fatal e-mail, I reached out to the professor of Stage Direction, asking for feedback.
He said, of course, Katinka.
We had a pretty good relationship at this time, because this was not the first feedback-session I was about to have with him.
A few days later I showed up at his office. I asked if I could please record the conversation, so I could focus on listening instead of taking notes.
He said yes.
I kept the memo, didn’t listen to it – I couldn’t bare it – and within the next couple of days, an idea slowly began to form in the back of my mind.
There is a venue in Copenhagen called Basement.
It’s dark, grimy, has concrete walls, is used for raves and underground concerts – and surprisingly, a lot of wrestling – and I knew that the rawness of this dungeon would be able to curate a certain atmosphere that occupied my mind.
And then I realized – not only my mind.
I happened to know quite a lot of people who had also suffered bad e-mails from that particular school. People who were also lowkey hating The Institution and wishing there was another way to make a living as an artist other than getting the paper from the goddamn only (!) official school in the country.
I knew these people because they were basically all of my friends.
And so, on June 22nd , five months after the e-mail, the doors to Basement opened, and the audience were invited to walk down the steep metal staircase into what we called a “live museum of the different aspects of rejection”:
The grief. The frustration. The hope. The denial, the internalization, the power imbalance.
Seven actors and four choir singers occupied the space in different sections, all exploring different aspects of rejection, audio pieces played from the bathroom, collages of rejection letters were glued to the walls, and on another wall was a projection of video footage from my drunk January night of e-mail opening, a shadow in front of the projection; a shadow cast by a bouquet of dried lilies dangling from the ceiling.
The audience were free to explore as they pleased – going by one actor after another, rejecting them as they left them to go on to the next one.
Another actor targeting people who he had previously delegated gold stars to, based on the level of power in those people’s occupations, the actor asking them to rank the best and worst performances of the night.
And there, in the middle of the literal basement of misery, was a white, cloudy tent of calmness. Audiences would walk into the sanctuary, away from all the self destruction and anarchist rage going on outside, and they would sit on the floor by an audio piece.
They would put on the headphones.
And they would listen to a recording of the professor telling me why my application had just-not-been-good-enough.
As the performance ended, I followed the audience back up the stairs into the small courtyard that was bathed in the sun of the summer evening.
And I stretched out my arm and poked a man on his shoulder.
The professor turned around and looked at me.
And he told me,
that he loved the performance.
All this time I’d searched for a way to truly believe that I might not need The Institution.
That I might not need The Paper.
I’m not sure what did it; The representative of The Institution, or the fact that I had spent five months with beloved friends and created something truly special.
But the following fall,
for the first time in 8 years,
I did not re-apply.
Thank you.Duration: 5:25
-
(at Books Are Magic, Brooklyn, August 12th)
other honourable mentions
KILEY on Luigi the Renaissance ghost:
He’s that friend who’s not gonna let you forget about all the guys you datedKATE on how to write:
When I write straight onto the computer, I’m always thinking about what you guys are thinking about my writing, and when I write in long hand, I am with myself and not imagining the readerKILEY on explaining illness to friends:
The proces of making you understand will make us not be friends anymoreKATE on the form of the plot:
That’s when I started thinking about the story less as a static idea of a girl stuck in her room, and more as a prison breakKILEY on the brilliance of creating imaginary characters:
Most of it is getting the characters into the room, [and it’s awful] but your characters are already there!
-
august 12th
15.33
Hala, Bushwick
table by window
I guess I booked a free haircut through salonapprentice.com
because I could
not necessarily
because I’m certain I want a haircut
but I think,
certain enough
I know that
4 months in NYC won’t make my hair grow back much faster than
1 week in NYC
but still I thought I should do it in the beginning of the tripEither to make it grow as much back as possible
Or to help me embrace
the spontaneity?
Adventure?
Nyc-vibe?
Independence?Or just to get it over with
so I don’t have time to overthink itEither way
3:30 in Chelsea tomorrow
So long, farewell, long hair, you were fair,
now you might turn cool
less long
“center part” is “midterskilning”If I hate it
I can find another free appointment
and dye it
to divert attention from the cut
See? I’ve thought it all through <3 <3 <3 <3 -
8. August
14.54
vinduespladsen på den høje stol,
cup of brooklyn
i dag er her endelig koldt
min rundetårns-fleece har bare ligget og kedet sig inde i skabet
jeg har bare svedt
købt nyt tøj bare for at ku afdække så meget hud som muligt
not today
lynet helt op til halsen
blød, blød,
et kram til min efterhånden semi-hudsultne krop
en københavner-ven der kommer og lægger sig oven på migOvenpå mit håndled med guldarmbåndet som nogen komplimenterede ude foran Bossanova ved 04-tiden
ovenpå min mave, der måske kan blive trænet lidt op i blink-fitness skråt overfor caféen her
ovenpå mine arme, som næsten ingen har rørt ved
ovenpå min ryg, som kun dagsturs-rygsækken har været i nærheden af
den er helt sort og anonym og har lynlås og lommer og jeg kan gemme mig, føle at jeg har en hemmelighed,
i dag er jeg ikke identitetsløs i en by der er større end jeg forstår,
i dag er jeg en hemmelig dansker med en perfekt temperatur, hverken luftfugtig eller koldsvedig,
helt lun og rar og blød
med et logo på ryggen som de andre ikke forstår
bare i dag er jeg en alien in new york og i morgen kan jeg fortsætte med at føle at jeg faktisk passer ret godt ind her
i dag behandler jeg new york som om den var mit hjem
bushwick som var det nørrebro
blink som var det puregym
filterkaffen som var den fra Mønten
stilladset foran vinduet som hang der en airtox-reklame på det
husnumrene som var de opdelt i lige og ulige
vent
det er de måske
jeg går ikke ud og tjekker det,
for der er lidt for køligt
jeg sidder herinde i stedet og nyder stuetemperaturen der findes i rummet mellem fleece og hudOg i morgen kan New York være New York igen og jeg kan være en lillebitte fisk på eventyr
i dag er jeg bare
en stor makrel der ved, hvor den skal svømme hen/
August 8th
14:54
window seat on the tall chair,
cup of Brooklyn
today it’s finally cold
my Round Tower-fleece have been sitting in my closet all bored
I’ve been all sweaty
bought new clothes in order to clear as much skin at possible
not today
zipped it all the way up to my neck
soft, soft,
a hug for my skin that’s starting to crave other skin
a friend from Copenhagen arriving to embrace me
embracing my wrist with the golden bracelet that someone complimented in front of Bossanova around 4 am
embracing my stomach that’ll potentially get fit inside the blink-fitness across from here
embracing my arms that next to no one has touched
embracing my back that’s only been seeing my daytrip-rucksack
it’s all black and anonymous and has zippers and pockets and I can hide, feeling like I have a secret,
today I’m not without identity in a city larger than I understand
today I’m a secret Dane with a perfect temperature, neither damp nor cold sweaty
all warm and nice and soft
with a logo on the back that the others don’t understand
just for today, I’m an alien in New York and tomorrow I can continue feeling that actually,
I fit in here quite well,
today I’ll be treating New York like it’s my home
Bushwick like it’s Nørrebro
Blink like it’s Puregym
the drip coffee like I got it at Mønten
the scaffolding outside the window like an aritox-banner was attached to it
the numbers on the houses like they’re divided in evens and odds
wait
they might be
I won’t be going out to check,
cause it’s a little too cold outside
I’ll be in here instead, enjoying the perfect temperature that exists in the space between the fleece and my skin
and tomorrow New York will be New York again, and I can be a tiny fish searching for an adventure,
and today I’ll just be
a large mackerel, knowing exactly where to swim -
Stuff I’ve acquired in New York during the first 2 weeks:
– Club entrance: Mood ring (dan paid, $15) –
– Club entrance: bossanova (I paid for dan as well, $20 total) –
– Club entrance: Le Bain (free) –
– Entrance: The Tiny Cupboard comedy club ($15 + season pass for $5 extra) –
– Ticket: screening of “The rebellious life of Mrs. Rosa Parks” (free) –
– Entrance: Cooper-Hewitt museum ($10 with the student discount) –
– Ticket: Books are magic-store event: “In conversation with” Kate Weinberg x Kiley Reid ($10,80 but will be refunded as gift card to book store) –
– Ticket: The Moth story slam “Rejection” ($15.46) –
– Subscription: The New Yorker (digital and print, $26.20) –
– Clothes: black sports bra/cute top: $5 (used) –
– Clothes: pink tank top: $5 (used) –
– Clothes: black punky skirt: $7 (used) –
– Clothes: pink sporty shorts/skirt: $18 (used) –
– Necklace: $8 (used) –
– Book: Such a Fun Age, Kiley Reid: $5 (used) –
– Book: Come and get it, Kiley Reid: $29 (new) –
– Book: Just Kids, Patti Smith: $8 (used) –
– Beverages at cafés: 9 (?)x $5 (average)= $45 (?) –
– Food: ???? a lot but also a lot of simple things like (nice) granola, eggs, avocados, milk –
– Beers/cocktails/wine: (???? More than I thought I think, but also people have given me free stuff so it’s only gonna get worse from here) –
– Metrocard 1 week: $36 (? Don’t remember) –
– Metrocard single fares/refill on card: $18 (?) –
– Laundry + drying: $8,5 (still have some left on my laundry card) –
– Bike + lock + helmet: $326 (bike used, the rest new) –
– Shower scrubby thing: $6 (?) –
– Glue traps for bugs: $4 –
– Fees for taking out money in ATMs: 120 DKR (?) –
Other expenses:
– Storage unit w. all my belongings in DK: 1038 DKR –
– Insurance: 1234,83 DKR –
– Phone bill: 119 DKR – -
She had been giving a surprisingly large amount of thought to the wet-tank top, that her partner’s baby sister had been wearing, contemplating whether or not she could still positively say that she was against brand-based consumerism.
It simply couldn’t be that good looking of a tank top:
It was white, a bit see-through and the font made her think of “brat” and how that tank top would probably do very well in neon green these days.
It wasn’t a new top.
Her partner’s younger sister had let her know, with a hint of surprise, that it was Kanye’s collection and to her own knowledge, it had been a while since Kanye had made a collection.
This piece of information made her think of two things:
1. Why does that make the top so attractive to me?2. Why didn’t I know that it was Kanye’s collection? Does everybody know this? (all awhile she was feeling a hint of pride of now knowing this, manifesting her lack of buying into the world of celebrities, trends and brands)
2.b. She was certain her life would be a bit more fun if she knew what was going on in the world of celebrities, trends and brands. Not that she would condone all of these celebrities’ behaviors or self indulgence or high horse…-
She lost her train of thought as she boarded the subway. She knew she would be able to spend a good half hour reading, as she spotted a couple of empty seats on her right. Before she got a chance to claim one of them, a pair of beautiful, bejewelled boys swooped in front of her from the opposite side of the cart and occupied them. She was sure they hadn’t seen her make her way over there, as they were deep into conversation of something she thought to hear as “the tiny cupboard”. She froze mid-move as they sat down in front of her, and rapidly lifted her head an inch to make it look like she was looking at the train stops above the boys’ heads, so as to give her an excuse to be facing their direction in the first place.
Now that she had taken the position of someone who didn’t know how far anything was or when to get off, she might as well milk it for a bit, she thought, as to eavesdrop on the Gen Z’ conversation going on at her waist-height.
Yes, she thought, they’re definitely talking about a tiny cupboard, and her mind immediately went to Harry Potter living in the cupboard beneath the stairs in the first book.
Were these boys – or men – , these young teenagers, able to get as much enjoyment out of the books as she herself had, she wondered, studying the word “Kosciuszko” for the 300th time in her life. Or were the magic gone, now that the author had turned to be so cruel towards certain demographics (or, that’s to say: one demographic). She had often found Gen X’s stereotypical perception of Gen Z’s to be downright wrong – yes, they were sensitive and depressed and wore incredible outfits at most times, but she didn’t find them overly politically correct or the slightest bit annoying. She felt awestruck whenever she’d engage in conversation with someone 10 years younger than herself, which was maybe why, she reasoned now, she had loved the tank top on her sister-in-law so much. Everything that generation did, seemed to make her feel a tiny bit inferior but at the same time very inspired. She was, after all, technically part of the same generation, though when her friend had shared the coined expression “zillenials” with her a few months back, it had stricken a chord with her that she hadn’t since been able to ignore. She wasn’t like them. She had had the pleasure and privilege to grow up alongside Harry, Ron and Hermione, and even using this as a reference point made her cringe and turn around to face Williamsburg drifting by her, slower and slower as the train approached the Williamsburg bridge.
At 8:43 pm that same evening, she looked at her co-worker’s phone as the screen lit up behind the bar. It was an Instagram notification letting him know that tomorrow’s lineup at The Tiny Cupboard will be some of Brooklyn’s finest upcoming comedians including @alexkimedian, @kimberlydinaro and @constantlygus. She looked away from the phone and felt slightly indignant that it would probably take a lot of unfollowing to get her own algorithm to present her the same exclusivity. It made her surprisingly sad to realize that excluded was how she felt. -
yesterday, I walked on Columbus Avenue
it was different
I think it’s very much the trees for me
I walked to the place that’ll be my home in a month and a half
September 14th I’ll be moving into Academic Guest House
on West 74th
so I went there
and went up the steps
and looked inside, through the glass door, through the gates, someone approached me
immediately embarrassed but not overwhelmingly so, because I do actually have a reason to be there,
wonderful, isn’t it? To have a reason that’s easily articulated for being somewhere,
(not like that shit shot at border control, that was top ten embarrassingly incompetent moments for me, feeling the English word slip back into my throat, down my stomach and out through the bottom as pure, incoherent shit)
so she opened the door, her eyes asking me why I’m being such a creep,
I said “is this academic guest house?”
she blinked and answered in Danish
such a sweet person, I thought, immediately, and not only friendly but-
she knew who I was
like, she remembered my name
she knew I was one of the artists
she told me how she was almost certain I’d be given one of the small apartments because some of the other students have to stay indoors a lot to write massive phd’s, and they figured I’d be out and about
Goddamn right you are
I’ll be out and about
I’m able to afford this because of this beautiful, over the top quiet and aircon’d mansion,
is what I thought,
she called it “Frederiksberg” and laughed,(If you know you know but if you don’t I’ll just let you know it’s the opposite of Brønshøj and Brønshøj is seemingly Bushwick;
not the Privet Drive-part of Brønshøj,
the main street with the scammy bike shops where the number on the bike frame doesn’t match with the one on the receipt)
I laughed and completely agreed
the back of my head going theme song from Hannah Montana season 1 through 4
Everyone tells me the same
literally two different worlds
how did I get this lucky? I thought as I left her, many thanks and I’ll be seeing you’s later,
as I checked the prices on the menu of the closest pizzeria,(kept on walking,
romantic daydream vanishing as quickly as it’d arrived)as I bought a turquoise shower-scrubby-thing in what’s about to be my local supermarket a lifetime from now,
as I looked at the street signs and almost stopped walking, realizing Sesame Street is an actual road right there to the left,
as I looked right and saw the Lincoln Center, feeling hopeful that I might have a reason to go there in a few months other than as an audience,
I went along Columbus Avenue as a resident-to-be, touristy-ly taking photos of restaurants I’m gonna wanna visit, tall mirror-like buildings that let the clouds continue their way across the blue sky, slightly deformed by square surfaces,
eyebrows raised at yet another Trump building,(how many does he need in this city??)
finding my way down the stairway and swiping the metro card that doesn’t work even though I bought it only hours previously,
sweatily descending more stairs,
finding a seat in the wooden, divided benches that won’t allow neither overweight nor homeless people,
trying not to cause a scene when fanning myself with the massive opening night-gift ages ago in South Carolina,
entering the cool metro,
opening the book I’ve been craving since I first read that she was writing a new one a year ago,
deciding to skip the two subway changes and walk the 15 minutes from Ralph instead,
exiting the train,
ascending the stairs,
assessing the geography of the place I thought would look more familiar to me,
finding my way towards the train track,
buying a gallon(??? The second-largest plastic container)
of milk in a deli,
carrying everything;
book, milk, bag, fan, two different senses of home,
sweating while doing so
pressing the code to the door
climbing the stairs
reaching for the key I left under the mat in case I’d managed to get robbed during the day and lose the only other one,
finding refuge inside the airconditioned
home
of the last week of July
all of August
and the first two weeks of September
-
slowly beginning to grasp
that I’m not living in bushwick
I’m living in new York city
Bushwick is my temporary home but
this,
this is it
found a bike on marketplace last night
arranged to come check it out this morning
spoke on the phone all the way along the J-train tracks
‘till I saw the street name and thought, oh, this looks like something I’ve seen on tv,
sat on the stoop and waited for a guy I didn’t know to check his phone
the guy was nice and the bike was beautiful
the bike was too small
googled mapsed other bike shops and recognized one I’d checked out the day before
decided to walk
realized I wasn’t in Bushwick anymore, that I approached bed-stuy, the place my friend’s dj-friends are living,
a fire(?) acted sprinkler and I wondered whether someone did it on purpose to wash their car or if it was just accidentally bumped by something heavy
a helicopter is soaring over me as I’m typing this,
remembering last time I was here and it took us a week to realize they aren’t police officers chasing criminals in cars,
they’re offering a tourism service, who wouldn’t wanna see Manhattan from above?
and so I kept on walking, decidedly not checking my phone until I saw the street name “Ralph”, checked, turned right, turned left, saw the bikes on the pavement or is it called sidewalk, I forgot which one is british, and there he was, the guy
JC
“those are my initials”
I told him my price range was that I’d found another bike yesterday to $400
immediately regretted it
because the whole reason I didn’t go back to the $400 bike was to pay less than $400
he said,
this one is your size
and it’s 250
I felt like I had made a friend and a knot untied in my gut
a beautiful man and his two beautiful girls bought a plastic air pump to make sure their basketballs were game-ready
I bought the bike
I bought a lock
I bought a bell
I bought a helmet
it was less than $400 dollars
I took not just one photo of him but he took multiple of me
asked for a review
there’s nothing I’d rather do
I hadn’t taken enough money out of the atm because I hadn’t considered I’d need a helmet
so I didn’t have $330
I had $326
and it was fine
this guy,
I wanna go back and make a documentary about him
im sure he’s like this with everybody
he said, first thing,
“this isn’t really a bike shop, it’s a talk…” and he wasn’t even bullshitting me
he reminded me of my old bartender-boss
“a happy employer makes for a good business, that’s just common sense”
JC told me it had taken a long time to build the business like this
not pushing product on people
not getting them to buy stuff they don’t need
but now they’re returning over and over and over
closed for 4 months each year but when we re-open,
he said,
people are waiting by the doors to go inside
I want an invitation
how can I be one of those people, relaxedly attached and part of the non-bikeshop bikeshop,
I really do not have any friends here yet, I am aware, it will come, this guy, JC, he’s with me now wherever I go,
because I bought the bike
And it’s a mountainbike
And it’s got gears ( <3 apparently a hard find in the used-bike market I’ve learned),
and it’ll take me onto sidewalks and tall curbs,
cause it’s a mountainbike and I’m a good rider cause I’m from Denmark, no not the Netherlands, yes the Netherlands have amazing agriculture I guess but so do we, oh, yes, the tulips and the river from the alps, yep for sure that’s not us that’s the Netherlands, but similar biking cities so I’ll be able to get my way around here I thought
and I motherfucking did
I tell you
following road signs and intuition and using the skyscraper in the distance to mark what I’m fairly sure must be DUMBO,
refusing to check your phone
because you’re not??? In a hurry?? To do??? Aaaaanything
it’s just me
and this bike that I’ve bought
with my absolute last cash
and I found downtown Brooklyn
and I found a café
there’s music outdoors
two American women speaking at the table next to me on the other side of the little cute fence with the plastic plants
it might be a job interview
I bought an ice coffee
refilled my bottle of water
im gonna be here for a long time, yo
and when I decide to leave
I’ll hop onto my bike
And go wher-e-v-e-r I want
probably not Bushwick today