Looking down on the little people from the penthouse high above them, I love them but they are so small, a blip really. The hustle and bustle makes a din, a noise that festers within, and I can barely hear it over the construction cacophony. I’d bet money the traffic is as thick as petroleum jelly (it ties my belly in knots with rage). At this stage, country living would surely entice, it would be nice to walk across the road without dodging Dodges and Audis like I’m playing Frogger. I’m no jogger, I don’t own a bike and it’s a hike to Midtown. I wish I could lose this frown, for urbanessence has gotten to me. Set me free, or call me a friggin’ cab!