I'll hang out with the kids who think they're cool.
You can't really hear them over the waves, anyways.
I'll forget about the standing, holding, waiting, sweating, pushing, yelling and daydreaming.
Well, the bad kind of daydreaming.
You know the New York I'm describing; the one you complain about, but miss after a few days. You'll long for it, eventually.
I'll long for it.
I hate sounding like a brat, but I suppose I hate complacency more.