Burning

Nearly some Six months after moving into my Bushwick Brooklyn "prison cell' it appears that stove gas is about to finally arrive. Yes we've been microwaving and Formanizing all this time, no our rent has not reflected the lack of this essential service. My landlord's daughter was kind enough to give us $100 off the first month so we could buy an "electric stove", which must be Latino speak for "Hot Plate"? Without a stove the place is a hotel, a hotel with a band that practices a floor below, a hotel where the maid never comes, a hotel where the landlord's son is always trying to fight your roommate. So perhaps now this brand new stove which has been relegated to a storage area can boil its first package of Raman. Now it should be stated that nothing is complete. They did some jackhammering out front which leads me to think that a gas line could have been installed, and they are asking that our apartment be available tomorrow between 9 and 5, but since the Popp-man and I are so committed to staying grounded and in touch with the common man, we continue to work "day" jobs despite being ultra fucking cool comedians. Oh well, the stove being just out of reach keeps us grounded. Besides, until they again start selling the box of frozen glazed donuts you heated in the oven I could really care less. You can't shake me. I'll heat grilled cheese with a lighter in an act of defiance against this metropolis that operates with the efficiency of an ox driven plow. But it was very astutely pointed out to us, "this building was a vacant lot not that long ago." That is until your family chose to build a building there and charge people non-vacant lot prices to live inside.