Never mind all that, soldier! Get it together! New York won't let you waste your day on these sentiments. Get on your shoes, go to the subway, yes, go underground, yes, mash with the people, mash into the people, flip your book so you can hold it with one hand now is your iPod in your pocket, hover wait for the lurch, there it is, hold back, now, go go go, get off go up, go to work work work work hold one phone two phones email rush out into the afternoon for lunch and tell them what you want, three ingredients, spinach iceberg romaine, coffee coffee pay attention that woman is looking at your drink she didn't ask for soy milk you asked for whip cream extra shot, be on it, be on top of it, rush upstairs, run run work, out, meet friends, back on the train, catch cab, run to gym, there, go, now go go go.You can't hide in your car, fall asleep at the wheel, you can't drift off in your cubicle while the humdrum music lulls you into suburban sluggishness: skin tone matching shirts, ties matching carpet. Alert, soldier, many drug addicts and alcoholics have made great names for themselves in this city, and it's mornings like this one that powered them through.
In New York if it is raining or snowing you fucking DEAL with it. You layer. Forget your nice shoes, your nice outfit, you can't get a cab, you will trek. You will trek like a completely insane person, the bottom of your pants will be wet, dirty, stained with salt, your hair is a mess, it's hopeless, if it's raining, just don't bother. Forgot your umbrella? Ten men glare at you, taunt you, you know that look, it's the look of drug dealers of crackheads that your parents warned you about in this city, telling you they can solve your problems with their umbrella. Just five dollars. Pieces of crap. Don't buy it. You can make it. You'll look like hell, but you're in hell, so what' s the difference?
Keep walking. Keep walking, like floating, like dancing, keep starving. Keep going. You can do this forever, there are people awake somewhere, there is other stimuli, there are people to fuck you or fuck you over, there are people to hit you and hurt you and remind you of your flesh, that you bruise, and there are people to assure you that you exist by running into you, there are people watching you. You see their eyes, you assume their eyes will see your legs and how well you fit into your skinny jeans. There are people watching you and drooling.
They are hungry, but you are free, you are floating above them, watching, laughing, cracking your knuckles like bones breaking, flying.
I'm not talking about fat. I'm talking about that small seat, the way you rest your feet three meters from the base of your chair, the spread of your legs, the cock of your elbows. I'm talking about how you call at me in heels, tell me how I look (goooood) and make me feel so dirty I get goosebumps. I'm talking about all the eyes on your tits. I'm talking about all the eyes on the man with shoulders that make shoulder pads jealous. I'm talking about commanding space. Your suitcase with the wheels in the aisle at Duane Reade. I'm talking about owning it.
I'm talking about saying: I deserve.