Wake up. She doesn't love you. 

Yesterday was April Fool's Day, and she admitted as much in an all night heart-to-heart.  Now she's lying like a limp rag in your bed, crushed by television. Get out of the apartment before she wakes up. Let her leave your apartment and never enter your life again. 

She doesn't love you. It's no longer April Fool's Day-- just You Are A Fool Day. Walk uphill on Milton Street, take a left at St. Anthony of Padua, the patron saint of shipwrecks, the poor, Portugal and lost things. The sidewalk along Manhattan Avenue is deserted at this early hour. Climb into the Greenpoint Avenue stop on the G line. Do you have your one-hitter? Good. 

Now, no matter what you do, you must leap over the canyon. The streets of Gowanus are like moon canals. You sit by the blue gate and hit your one-hitter and stare into the sky singing to yourself.