Switch to 6th gear at MacArthur Blvd. I make disco ball patterns with my head light, swiveling my neck around and singing "She's a lady" by Tom Jones. I pump my legs hard and act as ridiculous as possible .. because I can. Because it's 11 o'clock and I've earned it. There is nothing quite like a 13 hour day. Having to be on and now I'm off. I come home and I can't even tell you how many and which bones are cracking. My stomach hurts because I am all caffeinated/carbonated beverage and no water.

When I open the door to 16D I can hear WNYC playing in my room. I keep it on so I don't have to come home to quiet set of dark rooms.

An older couple came in to the store tonight.

Me: Are you together? (pointing to the stuff on the counter)
Wife: That's what he'd like to think.
The man laughs.

Wife: I got the new digital license and I still look like a hooker.
Husband: Mutters in agreement. And he laughs again.

Heh, perfecto. Those two people and a little boy made my night.

There are people I should call and emails I should write, but I have to let it rest. Because tomorrow will be the same.



It seems to me now the plain state of being human is dramatic enough for anyone; you don't need to be a heroin addict or a performance poet to experience extremity. You just have to love someone + n.h.
raise your hand