Born and Raised

I’m born, raised, and born again.

I can barely remember my first life. Just snippets. I was always moving West. Brooklyn to Los Angeles. Los Angeles to Honolulu. Honolulu to Auckland. Just to visit. O.K., maybe to live there. It was a habit. They’re hard to break.

I died on the plane to Auckland. Not from a crash. I was the only person dead. I think. I seized, choked, screamed, died. I don’t remember what happened next. I hope someone noticed.

This second life: get me the hell out of it.

You sweat like a pig all day. No air conditioning. No ice. You can’t go swimming. Too polluted. No gas. You have to walk. You can get shot in the street. Even by your neighbor. No Internet. You can’t move West. You’re stuck where you are. It’s hell on earth. I’m not joking about that.

Get me back to Brooklyn as it once was.

That’s something I never thought I’d say in any lifetime.

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