after walking
ten miles
in bad shoes from
the Roosevelt
Hotel
to MOMA,
we're hungry.we check
yelp for a nearby restaurant.
something with at least
one star.
we may die
if we don't eat something.
it doesn't have
to be Michelin rated,
we don't care
anymore.
we just need food,
don't worry about a fork
and knife,
or spoon.
that's what fingers are for.
look, there's a hot
dog stand.
quick before he closes
his metal bin.
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