What You Do and What You Don’t Do
More lists.
Because one can’t write full sentences on two hours sleep. (Wait. One just did. And another. Pity the newspapers of New York tomorrow, for I have forsaken them…)
List:
Thick cold rain.
Industrial streets.
New York Irish bars.
Middle-aged hockey guys.
An unreturned handshake.
A helmet. A motorcycle.
Chatter.
Coruscating laughter.
Avocadoes.
Eyes like the Mediterranean.
Cigarette smoke.
Saturated droplets. Black scarf. Motorcycle flying.
A coal stove.
A metal shop. Welded things.
Whirling 1930s notes. Subtle dancing. Red wine in juice glasses. Orange stove glow. Patter on skylights.
A leak on a floor.
A ’63 Chevy pickup and the smell of gasoline.
The thonk of a knuckle on metal.
The West Side Highway.
Black coffee in a paper cup.
An IOU.
A noxious puddle.
A walk around.
This computer.
A meeting convened.
A media shakeup.
This computer.
Eyes closing.
This computer.
posted by TK @ 18:16
3 comments
3 Comments:
This list. It's simple and seemingly random but.......Riding my old Harley down the Westside Highway, Rolling Thunder and later the Garlic Run. Little Italy, my date (now my wife) says she knows that guy over there, I say go say hello. She says no, she knows him from the soaps.....Cruising past Studio 54 in Rick's old K-5 Blazer with the white wagon wheels. The NYPD sends us "back across da river where you Jersey punks belong"......Now I'm stuck in western Pennsylvania, like purgatory but it's just a little better than the middle of Missouri. We spent three years there. My wife says we always took The City for granted. You never appreciate something 'til it's gone. Someday we will live there, when the kids are grown. Thank you for this blog, it's a good read even if it does make me sad sometimes.
hey SQ, do i know you? reading your blog now. sad sometimes? wow. why? why stuck in the boonies?
McB, I don't think you know me, well maybe you do but I doubt it. Sad sometimes?...Why stuck in the boonies?...
I miss it all, the vibrant aura that surrounds the metropolitan area. The Belmont Tavern on Bloomfield Ave., Chicken Savoy with so much vinegar it takes your breath away. Chinatown, this little place we would all go where the old man knew we all liked shrimp toast, he pronounced it "sleep toast". I guess when I read your blog it just takes me back. Maybe it's middle age melancholy. I'm 44 years old, and I just recently figured out what I want to do when I grow up. It hurts me to see my wife stuck in this blue collar no man's land. I'm rambling, sorry.
We ended up here through "a series of unfortunate events" compounded by a couple of bad decisions. The kids are doing really well so I guess I shouldn't complain. I'm going to write a blog post and explain the whole thing, maybe it will make sense. I don't want to take up too much space on your blog here, that would be rude. Maybe you do know me. Livingston NJ class of 1980. Well, I dropped out, got my GED and joined the army. That was my first mistake.
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