This neighborhood really has changed.

I wouldn’t call myself a pot smoker, but if someone gives me pot, I smoke it. Last night someone gave me some pot. My wife is in Florida this weekend, at Harry Potterland, so I thought a nice capstone to my sad bachelor dude deep-fried wankfest would be to smoke some and finish watching The Long Good Friday (I fell asleep halfway through on Thurrsday, I know) before I go across the street to watch the Super Bowl at my favorite lesbian bar.

I know it’s a cliche to bitch about how much Williamsburg and New York in general has lost its Edge, and I’ve only lived here for less than 6 years, but come on. There used to be countless tables and stores and flea markets that sold bowls and one hitters and all that stuff. Now there’s like fifty vintage fashion boutiques and boulangeries. I must have walked around for an hour trying, unsuccessfully, to buy a pipe. 

Man, fuck that.