woke up with an inkling of the big city. showered, shaved and headed to south station in chinatown to buy a ticket to nyc. within five minutes of the transaction I was literally shoved on the express bus by a little chinese woman wearing a red parka with the text “Fung Wah Express” in large white font, peeling off and worn, probably from the repetitive action of pushing people onto huge menacing vehicles. fifteen dollars, and 3 hours later I was squeezed out of the bus right in the bowery, with no place to stay and no plan of action, all I was aware of was the cacophonous bitter wind that was pummeling at me at a temperature of minus fifteen, and I was coat-less just a flimsy denim-jacket. I made some calls: Koko, Nathan, Dennis, William and then Niki, most plans fell through, but I finally arranged a place to crash in Brooklyn of a friend of a friends. I had a copy of Gol Nu Get Mote and wanted to take it to Printed Matter, not knowing where it was or having a map on me, I relied on my instincts and memory from the two other times I have been in this metropolis. When I was waiting at 4th St. station an older man wearing a long blue parka with a white fur collar kept looking at me, probably because I looked so damn cold and unprepared, but I thought nothing of it. I got to Chelsea and found Printed Matter, but then hunger set in, and I ate at this little diner across the street. As I sat at the bar drinking coffee, the man with the blue parka sat next to me and ordered a coffee as well. I ordered the hangover sandwhich, and kept thinking about this man next to me and how in such a large city full of so many people could we both be coincidentally be on the same paths and arrive here from the opposite end of Manhattan? I paid and headed over to Printed Matter and applied to have my book sold there. As I was leaving the man with the blue parka entered.
Headed to a bar-b-que restaurant to meet Clayton, who is in the band Crawl Babies, whose house I was crashing at in Brooklyn.

Around 10, a hurst pulled up to a funeral home and a draped-body on a stretcher was wheeled out. As I approached a gust of wind followed me, and whipped off the veil that was covering the body. A woman, recently embalmed, with pastiche make-up all over her white, soul-less skin was laying there, and her body jiggled as the drivers lifted the stretcher onto the sidewalk, it was a jiggling that resembled a voiceless “hello there”. I stood there, in shock, staring at the vessel, when I was shaken back into reality by one of the funeral home employees saying “sorry about that” to me. My nose started bleeding, as it had earlier on the subway, from what I thought was from vacillating between hot and cold climates so fast, however, luckily, when I was on the subway a man gave me a Dunkin Donuts styrofoam coffee cup and a napkin to bleed into - america runs on dunkin.
Also a man off the street gave me a huge german army parka because I looked so cold! And it took me forty-five minutes to find a place to piss in Chinatown, I had to buy a black-bean bun, but it was worth it.
Saw the Pink Mountaintops play in Brooklyn, it was a true rock and roll fantasy as I drank an old fashioned.

On the bus ride home, the bus stopped at a McDonalds in Connecticut and parked in the back.
I saw a woman who was driving a mini-van smoking crack by the grease dumpsters. A few minutes later, three women and a man in their fifties and a child came out with arms full of McDonalds paper bags and got into the minivan along with the woman who was smoking crack and they all drove away, a happy meal.
Got home and Nathan took me out to dinner.

plastic man, you are the devil.