NYC 03/14/2001 6:30ish--closer to 7

[ateolf]

I walk around this city, not so big as it is dense--the island, anyway. It seems that half of these avenues (parallel and perpendicular: simple, precise geometric expressions, crossing perfectly in every direction. . . for the most part) have stretched out beneath my feet--now torn apart by this abuse of travel and the luxurious idle they have spent in their sparse, Southern hometown. Down into the subway terminals and one record store, Subterranean as well, they have found some ease of travel. I'm on the verge of passing out, well, not quite the verge, but somewhere kind've near it. But this is mostly due to a severe lack of sleep. And speaking of sleep: I will be doing that in a closet for the next four nights. It's not quite fear but a mild paranoia: a small sense of worry. And I hope I'm justified in its smallness. But for now I sit in this mecca of indie/avant hipsterness, sitting at a small table, with my pen across a small sheet of borrowed notebook paper. David, too. . . except for the "borrowed" part; it's his paper.