paperback writer
it's such a photogenic city, New York
12:10pmThe Village smells like pot and urine and teriyaki and I snapped pictures as we traversed the streets and long paragraphs of sound intermingling with our own happy conversation. We sat on the cold metal snowboot scraper and watched the drunks float by in vivid color and talked about living the dream. We meditated on the day we wrote the contract and Will Hoge authorized it with his signature, and how we knew at the time we were all talk. But now here we were, sitting amongst the black gum stains and crushed cigarettes of Union Square at one thirty in the morning, exactly where we never imagined we would be, talking of others and how they're all talk. And what a tragedy all that is because just doing is not so difficult as everyone seems to think. And it's too bad the Beat Poets were all assholes. And it's too bad they're all already dead. But there are too many things to see and love and smile inwardly about to worry too long on one subject. Cities are some of my favorite people. FIN. 4:10 a.m., Monday, Nov. 07, 2005 |
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