“You see…to live is to suffer. To survive…well, that’s to find meaning in the suffering.”

“WELCOME TO CLEVELAND, BITCH!”

DMX had to be talking about the people that live in this city. As nice as they are, there’s no reason they should be living like this. Downtown Cleveland had me fooled; it wasn’t the most skyscraper-laden city I’ve ever seen but it fed me optimism about what I would see when I ventured past these few large buildings. Downtown Cleveland is a horrible liar.

There’s a North Coast here…that leads to a lake. A lake, homey. A lake. Regular ass people with no edges can make lakes. There’s not even a beach there; there’s a body of water that’s cut off by rocks or a beaver dam or a pile of sticks or something-I don’t know, really-that doesn’t let boats venture out away from this terrible place. It’s like they acknowledge it took a miracle to get people to live here and they can’t risk losing a single taxpayer. Now I get the “Crossroads” video; that wasn’t the angel of death that kept taking Clevelanders’ lives; it was a recruiter from Happyland taking selected folks from the nothingness to anywhere else, USA.

I almost bought a Johnny Football jersey, though. Party Boy Manziel is the post-LeBron hope these people seem to tie their laurels to. The audacity of hope is what makes good dreams great and great dreams billion dollar corporations; Cleveland hope is an 8-8 football season. I’m not poking fun; I’m just stating facts that you’re free to refute. The old Cleveland Browns moved to Baltimore, drafted Ray Lewis and Ed Reed, won two Super Bowls, and made us all forget that Baltimore is still the worst place I-95 could ever take us. But you all have Johnny. Poor Johnny. That money dance is going to offend a lot of people here, I’ll bet.

I didn’t want to leave DC but I felt I had to. Every shift from the black, white, and gray Sobiato sweatsuits to the red H&M skinny jeans nudged me to this point. Each gentrified neighborhood and random condominium construction ate at my love for a place I never planned to defend so fiercely. When did D.C. become a destination city for young people? I get it now; everyone wants to move here because there are places like Cleveland, Ohio. The people are really nice and helpful-don’t misconstrue what I’m saying-the city itself has just given up. Clevelanders deserve better. I thought the fire on Lake Erie was a hilarious accident. Naw, son…naw. That oil was running away from the city and I kind of don’t blame it at all.

“Welcome to Baltimore-Washington International Airport.”

I tried to run to an obscure place but couldn’t. Going back to Atlanta would reunite me with so many of you college douchebags, I sometimes regret lamenting to people I was born there. I’ll resign to living in Uptown D.C. and smirk at the hoards of people clamoring to live in this expensive, arrogant, bougie (that’s how I spell it. To hell with your comments) city. I will learn to deal with seeing white folk walking their dogs down H Street at 9:00 PM without a care in the world. I guess I’ll get used to seeing the Cordas being torn down, leaving its residents to relocate to Southern P.G. County. Whatever. I’m here and I’m the prince of this city; I tried to leave but…I went to Cleveland. You’d love your city, too.

A.J. Armstrong is the motherf*cking Prince of Washington, DC. He’s also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities. He now prays daily for Clevelanders; you shouldn’t have to live like that at all