New York City in the Middle of the Night

Everything happens for a very bad reason.
So says the piece of paper I found.
Looks like it is from a typewriter. 
And it is completely dry on a rainy eve. 

Smirk and storing this info.
I feel unique and lost, dragging myself.
There is blood on 44th street.
It stains my boots. 

My new Upper West Side flat is lonely. 
sheets and television and a broken mirror. 
And so the truth is shit. 
I don't sleep, I just walk.