Video Transcription
When it's a greenhouse in New York City, there's no way out of hot, ferocious.
There are no clouds and breezes that can escape into this damn hot concrete dungeon.
The midnight sun burned on its way through the Pollution, leaving me with the head of a sledgehammer and hungry.
Down in a town of my own luck and ice, the fire in my bones overwhelms me and I can no longer control desire and despair.
In my delirium of loss, I dream of returning to Santo Domingo, the island where I was born.