It’s three o’clock in the morning. A cold breeze blows on my ruddy face. Train cars fly by overhead. The bars let out their weary drunken souls into the night. I watch. Some laugh. Others walk along using parking meters for walking sticks. A man leaning over the curb, praying to God for mercy on his soul. An ambulance with lights on but no siren drives past.

I walk up Broadway going north. Diners filled with cops and tranny whores in heavy mascara and red lipstick, short skirts showing off those legs to junkies, thieves, crackheads, meth makers, salesmen from out of town, busboys speaking in Spanish, experimental twenty somethings, and drunks from Uptown. It really is quite a show.

I stroll by The Green Mill looking for the rest of mankind. I hear the jukebox playing Freddy the Freeloader. People are laughing inside. Soon, they’ll be kicked to the cold as well. Then it’s back home to toast and honey. Scrambled eggs and a girlfriend who cares. Or, it’s off to the apartments of new found lovers. Someone who’ll take the pain away. We’re all in need of a fix one way or another.

I sit on the stairs of St. Ita’s and take out my flask, saying cheers to God. He says, Salute. I’ll drink to that.