Remember all those soul-deadening jobs where they’d make you wear some stained-up secondhand workshirt that came down to your knees and how hard you’d try to cool up the periphery in case you ran into anybody you knew? I wonder if that’s why punk and goth girls always cram so much shit on their necks and arms.Comments/Enlarge |
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We love these East Village tweakers who broadcast public-access TV shows from their mother’s living room in Alphabet City. They are the real New York, and the neighborhood would suck without them. Never go away, Crimson Bernie!Comments/Enlarge |
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