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The old man went for a drive….a long drive…nowhere in particular….just drivin’

His wife of fifty-five years had died….left ’em in the middle of the night…channeled her spirit to another time and place…..so did he….

Took off for Texas…..maybe it was Iowa….I’m thinkin’ it was Vermont….He never said…all this is speculation….some lives are just speculation…..

Nothin’ was found out there…..I know that….Couldn’t have found anything ….He’s  lookin’….maybe….just lookin’ for peace….

It’s been a month now…..

Givin’ up hookers, Tommy said; a schmear was spread, Too much….too much, talkin’ to Jimmy the Gent; no words from Jimmy; mouth full as always…

It gets to be a habit…..it’s become a habit….nothing enjoyable….nothing…,hands through gray….

Nothing? Jimmy managed a word; pieces of pastrami flying…

Sure….the initial….the act….

I get that…

But after….no….nothing….Hollow….

Tommy, in between dips of Russian dressing, You gettin’ interspective….soul searching? Jimmy asked, wiping his jowels….

Not too much….not too much….just tryin’ somethin’ new, said the thin man, Somethin’ new….

I’ll place money…I’ll take that action….

You would Jimmy…..you would…

Frankie the fag had a few…fingered in the process….the losses mounted….along with the drinks….

Some motherfucker done stole my purse, Frankie spewed in a Southern drawl to call all the boys ’round….

Once I’s  in love an’ it was a blast….,off pitch, out of key, the Queen of the vagabonds continued her duet with Debbie…..

Soon found out….had a heart of glass…

What you lookin’ at homeboy….you probably the thief…..I knows ’em when I see ’em…uh…uh.uh.uh.uh…, waved the pointer; accentuated at the end with a grinding dip of the hips….

Soon turned out….be a pain in da ass…Pardon me sir, Frankie said with snaps and claps, I am her royal highness….respect is due….

Listen girls….Do you believe in love? Well I got something to say ’bout it, now….the best of Madonna; Frankie’s fav……

Satin sheets are very romantic…..Come-on…..you believe in love?….
Boys…I’m gonna go all night….

Money gone…
A wallet waiting in a dumpster..
And a hangover as always.
Awakened in a metal chair….

Head covered-over, a crochet shawl made by his mother, smells of the night before throughout the drop in center….

Slow-moving, losses uncounted, the age-old question, What to do now?…..

Frankie the fag had a few….
Nothing new….

Like Frankie said…..
In Manhattan….it’s always a full moon….

A Southern Belle played loud notes to the merchant of Venice outside the Astoria as bags were carried….strollers pushed….and panhandlers peddled…..

You think I’m this dumb plaything don’t ya, she bellowed softly….demurely….loudness in hushed tones….

My daddy told me to be careful with members of the tribe…..My momma told me to find myself a good Christian man…..Well that’s what I get….That is exactly what I get…..

Shylock kept looking forward….rolling a cigar between flossed teeth….usual procedures….

Her fur wrapped loosely….blonde hair blowing….considering her next move….

I have needs….do you hear me? ….I said….Do you hear me?…..Your not the only one with big plans…..grandiose schemes…. let me tell ya…

The cigar was placed firmly now in a wide-opened mouth; a money clip was pulled from pocket….

A couple of bills were tucked in a fragile hand, Go get your hair done….go to a spa….go  to a tea….just go…..go…..go…

And with that, the belle’s step became a strut…

These things we must do….

The call was made to the Midwest…watching troops of spectators wander through ticket hawkers….scalpers….billboards..lit-up signs blinking and calling out to drunks….perverts….currency holders….and the cash assisted…

Wedge, I said,….it’s gotten weird…Manhattan has gotten too weird….

Manhattan, he scoughed, It’s the whole country…..small towns…..County seats…..cornfields in Iowa….it’s all gotten too wierd….

Yes….yes it has….

Feel the Berne…..

Riding shotgun on Green Dolphin Street….Bill Evans at the wheel….white-noise of who can talk a higher decibel rises….muffled by Paul Chambers bass line…..

A right-hand taps a left thigh…Philly Joe keeps time….prayers are lifted from black Keys and meditative peace hugs….notes….hold me along the Westside….Jazz….the last bastion …of transendence…..

Riding shotgun on Green Dolphin Street with Bill Evans at the wheel….

Passing pulpits of prophets…..warnings of impending doom…..gentlemen’s quarters….whore’s dens….all-night donut shops and 24 hour car washes….wealth around every corner…… I’m still with Bill…

I’m still with Bill…..calm…at  ease…..Riding on Green Dolphin Street…

Riding on Green Dolphin Street…

It is the most  American of all holidays: St. Patrick’s day….the rites of spring fully exercised….fully exposed….

Protestant girls in green tight tops showing tits to drunken boys whose masculinity wanes from day to day…..always check on what’s trending….

Catholic hipsters line 5th Avenue…..flasks outwardly open….smells of whiskey….odors of ales…..midnight mistakes will be made….

All around the banners of Americana:Budweiser….Coors..Miller Lite…..Boston’s Sam Adams (made in Cincinnati ) posted on windows of bars and taverns and diners and all that will be allowed…soon the riches will flow..

And Catholic churches are empty….there are no prayers lifted….nor candles lit….

What….You think you’re in Ireland?

A man on the cheap….
Call it greed….
Perhaps stupidity….
This is the current climate….

Slick Rick sold subway swipes for 2 bucks….such a deal…
Here’s one better….swipe it for free my nigga…..

An argument….loud mouths….one’s gotta blade…
A quart of blood later and Rick ain’t slick….
Dead on a subway platform….

You have to understand, Fat Joe pontificated, To the homeless 2 bucks is a million, He peeled an orange and nodded his head….

See….the mind of the mentally ill can’t comprehend right from wrong because of too much oxygen to their brains, Fat Joe was on a roll…

Prison will be the best thing for him, a slice of fruit devoured, He will have a bed….food…it is unfortunate….., His bizarre  reasoning complete…..

Evil and illness….right and wrong…..those with and those without….
We are now on the verge of danger…Get ready for summer….

With one loud word….one strike with a hand….one too many tries at free rides….and…of course….one cop making the wrong call….

Dearest Apollo…..look down upon us….Dionysus….place us in a peaceful slumber…..

Oedipus has yet to learn his fate…..

No longer an easiness in mornings…no more….
Sleeping on metal chairs…park benches….wet turf….You reap what you sew….Right?

Rooms….churches….synagogues…soup kitchens….line-up…..you’ll get yours….. These were choices made…Right?

Was there ever a chance… Placing a spike in a vein a choice….A crack-pipe picked up at midnight….The bottle bought at the bodega…..choices…..Right?

The crazy woman by Penn Station…mascara and Rouge worn as war paint….Mumbling myths of Sappho….She’s looking for an angle…..Right?

Kids stealing…slashing faces in Manhattan….in Brooklyn….wallets picked-up on 3 on the morning trains….finders….keepers…..Right?

Money made at the flick of a key….moving options….funding this….de-funding that in office cubicles with high-fives generated at water-coolers….Earned…..Right?

Right…..

Backflips….cartwheels turned over and over….tag….leap-frog….smear the queer….the finest in Americana …..some things never change….

White girls racing each other to a never ending finish-line…..Mexicans…..some Jewish kids too….getting tangled-up in soccer-nets….always climbing….never getting anywhere….

Hoops are shot by black boys in sneakers of red…..gold…..green….and canvas….old Chuck Taylor’s…..remember when….remember when….

Lots of laughing….some zeroing in on a kiss…..hold-off….don’t rush the inevitable….

Teachers trying to control the masses to no avail….and tomorrow they’ll try again….and the next day….and the next day….and the next day…..

I miss being a kid….I miss being human….Time for a backflip….