I crave the neon-lit lofts, the tgirl prophets spittin' Baudrillard over mezcal. The withdrawal's a velvet blade, slicing through my resolve. I'm a junkie for that post-ironic serotonin rush, chasing trans girls through LES alleys like a poet possessed. Rachel Ormont's shadow looms in my dreams, her Red Scare snark a siren song. I'm jonesing for the burn, the chaos, the girlcock sacrament. I'm wired for the Dimes Square inferno. See you in the gutter, dolls.