"Fuck Millbrook!" you shouted from the deck of your loft style apartment.
You're a psycho, Tyler. You're one of us now.
You ride the J train. You carry your own luggage. You date a freckly Catholic from Queens who was raised sharing a bathroom. O'Malley? O'Connor? Oh, snap, she went to a state college! Does your dad know?
Yo, yesterday when I saw you get down with a steak burrito from Chipotle, I thought, "Tyler. Is. Crazy." You know the dangers, my ninja! E.coli. Salmonella.
"Ain't no, thang," you said, wiping sour cream off your chin.
It's like you got a death wish, son. But I got your back, Tyler. Like I said, you one of us, now.