Wishing the mania would go on forever. Thinking the money will never end. But, it is. And a gloomy cloud of depression starts to build up inside. I sit in a diner owned by Greeks on Lexington eating an egg sandwich. The price isn’t bad; $5.50. I begin counting the money in my pocket. There are tens and twenties; long gone are the fifties and the hundred dollar bills. I’m below a hundred. I’ve got $88 to my name. The mania tells me to spend and spend it quickly. The depression also wants me to spend it in a rapid pace. And, I know the end is coming soon. There will be none. Then it’s back to hitting day labor jobs, calling friends to donate to the cause, family , anybody to keep me afloat; I’m sinking. The water is up to my chin.

I’ve been awake for almost a week now. I’ve walked all over this city. Sitting by the Hudson River, I look out across at New Jersey. I think it’s New Jersey; my sense of direction is off; No longer am I sure of what is south or north, east or west. I don’t know this city. I thought I did from my youth, but, I didn’t know it then either. I reflect on the time when I was eighteen and I came to the city with $500 on me. That was back in the ’86. I immediately got a room for $250 a month. I got a bartending job within a matter of hours. I was young and fit. I had no fears. It is now I realize that back then was the beginning of my down fall. Unable to keep jobs. Constant suicidal thoughts. Up all night combing the city looking for trouble. I lasted two months then returned to the Midwest with my tail between my legs. I think about that time and I begin to cry. I fully understand my life to be one catastrophy after another; job after job. Hospitalization after hospitalization. A million pills taken throughout my life. And for what? To make me feel better? To keep me alive?

Sitting on a bench looking at the Hudson. I lay my head down and the breeze blows. I fall asleep. I dream. I dream…