By someone who gave a damn, once…
You know, I was born in Watertown, New York. Not dropped off, not parachuted in, not airlifted from Canada like a crate of discount maple syrup—born here. I went to Catholic school. Sat in the pews. Ate the stale communion crackers. Got yelled at by nuns with breath like radiator steam. I did the whole thing. I invested. I gave this cold, gray, rusty screw of a city my time, my belief, my loyalty. And what did I get back?
A kick in the teeth… with frozen boots.
This town doesn’t want progress. Oh, they say they do. They hold meetings and scribble buzzwords on whiteboards like “revitalize” and “innovation” and “community stakeholders,” but it’s all just warmed-up political baloney on a paper plate. They treat change like it’s a virus. They treat visionaries like lepers with laptops. The only thing they’re developing in Watertown is a deeper relationship with mediocrity.
And don’t get me started on the city council—the Crybaby Clubhouse. These folks act like they’re auditioning for a reality show called America’s Pettiest Politicians. Every election cycle it’s the same script:
“I’m offended!”
“He was mean to me!”
“My feelings were hurt!”
Boo hoo, Barbie. Politics isn’t a therapy session. It’s a job. You’re not there to feel safe, you’re there to fix shit—but instead, all they fix is each other’s Facebook reputations.
Let me put it plain: I’m voting one last time in this mausoleum of ambition. One final checkmark. A mercy vote. Then I’m pulling my voter registration faster than a teenager pulling browser history when mom walks in. I’m heading home—to West Palm Beach, Florida. Yeah, yeah, it’s got its own brand of nuts, but at least it’s open for business. At least they understand palm trees, property value, and progress.
So to Watertown, New York…
Thanks for the memories.
Thanks for the potholes, the political karaoke, the endless winters, and the overwhelming smell of resignation.
But I’m out.
I’m going where my heart beats warm and free.
You can keep the snow, the drama, and the sad little circus.
And to the city I once loved?
Fuck you, City of Watertown. 
Hans
