CONFIDENTIAL: You're Great.

Mark called the other day to ask if I needed some plastic cutlery or ketchup packets. Having friends in the delicatessen industry is a big plus.

It might actually be too hot to be alive. I might have to hurl myself out the suicide proofed windows. Really, if you're committing suicide, how much are you going to care about a window? A window that isn't even yours?

I found a fortune cookie fortune taped below the doorknob on the inside of my closet but I can't make out what it says.

On Saturday night my friends and I stayed up until way too late telling ghost stories (which I am a total seven year old girl about, by the way), and it was the first time since I've been here that I felt genuinely freaked out. It's really hard to be freaked out when you're constantly surrounded by people and you never have that scary sensation that you're the only one awake.

My favorite street to walk down is probably St. Mark's Place. There are all these grungy tattoo parlors, piercers, smoke shops with grimy looking bowls out front under glass. Everyone has tattooed and pierced the hell out of themselves, and with all the mohawks, manic panic, and other standard counter-culture-street-punk ware, you'd think Ford was in the White House or something. But then, interspersed, there are stores that practically glow with new art deco clean white interiors. Take, for example, the Bamn automat, a throwback to whenever the hell automats enjoyed popularity. It's this neon room with write tables and no chairs. The whole street feels like the lovechild of Tokyo and Detroit.