I never thought in a million years that I’d ever say this, but I’m actually considering moving to Los Angeles. Of course, I also thought that I had a million years before the Eastern seaboard would flood, but, nah, it was more like five. Turns out we probably shouldn’t have reversed course on all those climate-change initiatives—maybe then half our country wouldn’t be like a cemetery aquarium. But, as they say, hindsight is “a lot easier when you’re not doggy-paddling toward canned food.”

Our current Mayor-Governor-King is an undead Rudy Giuliani. (As long as he holds that orb, he can’t die.) We’ve been thinking about marching in protest of this offense to democracy, but it’s literally impossible to march on water. My point is, I don’t think anything’s going to change anytime soon, so what am I waiting for?

Honestly, I’ve seen a lot of one-bedrooms in Echo Park that are so nice compared to the bed I sleep on now, which is made out of driftwood and drowned squirrels. I’m not sure what the neighborhood is like, but it’s got to be better than this one, which has been taken over by gentrifying pirates. They wear French bulldogs on their shoulders, their ships are made out of reclaimed wood and mid-century-modern furniture, and, even though they dress really cool, most of them work in finance (hang out in the former financial district and a flooded-out Equinox).

I’m an actor, and the roles just aren’t here anymore. Broadway is covered in mushrooms, and even though “Dear Evan Hansen” is still up—we need it now more than ever, I guess?—there’s just not the same scene as before the Big Spill, which is what everybody is calling the whole East Coast quasi-apocalypse thing. I still audition all the time, though. There’s a lot of Under Under Under Broadway productions happening.

Actually, some people say that underground theatre is better than ever since the N.E.A. sent all that scuba gear. But my dream is to star in “Rats,” which is like “Cats,” except that the cast is mostly these buffalo-size rats that populate midtown. Someone managed to get wigs on a few of them, so the play is these monster rodents scurrying around the roof of an H&M while human survivors dance and sing new versions of the songs from “Cats.” It’s pretty faithful to the original, iconic production, except that there’s a lot more shouting for help. I put on my résumé that I took improv classes, so I hope that counts for something. If I’m not cast, then there will be nothing left for me here.

Is seeing my ex every time I float through Williamsburg a factor in the potential move? Absolutely. I used to be very good at avoiding her, but now I’m at the mercy of the tides, the water-ski gangs, and the whims of Giuliani. He really creeps me out. He hasn’t spoken since the Big Apple sank—he just laughs as bats fly out of his every orifice. Not exactly leadership material, but I’ve never come back from the dead before, so what do I know?

I’ll admit that I voted for the wasp nest under Steve Bannon’s chin. “Lesser of two evils” was an understatement. There were so many evils on the bill that people lost track. Also, a totally normal Hillary Clinton ran again, but nobody voted for her, for some reason. In hindsight, she was probably the best candidate, but, as people also say now, hindsight is “2020 was the last year we could’ve prevented this.”

So I’m pretty much definitely moving to L.A. I guess I’ll have to get sunglasses and—ugh—a car! I’ve just gotten so used to swimming around in this big sewer that I can’t imagine driving again. I’ll have to get my license renewed! Oh, my God, I’ll have to go to the D.M.V.! What a nightmare.

But what can I say? It’s just time to move on. I’ll finally have a chance to shop around my screenplay for “Water World 2: This Is How New York City Really Is Now.” I’m sure that, after a few weeks, the mold will peel off my skin, I’ll get a vivacious tan, and I’ll be excited to start my new life in the Golden State. It’ll be really nice to drink a smoothie again that is not made out of bones, seaweed, and M&M’s. Can’t wait!