NUANCE
No one understands that I have to
work, that I have to
breath, all as if the same. No time
for no time nowhere.
The laughing lady on the train-seat
near me, she looks
dimly into space to fathom where she
is, let alone
realize where she's going : black
boots probably worth
a fortune and just as unwalkable as
well. Why such heels
on a workable boot? No, they are not
that at all. The proper
Scots guy across the way scribbles
some text note drivel
by a two-finger touch onto a screen
he's never heard of
before - all the while the world
passes by unbeknownst
to his living day. No worry, he'll
pay. I'm still thinking of the
lady with those boots : what's she
doing? And why? Where
does her mind wander in midtown
Manhattan? I have no
savage limits to what I can do -
she really ought to watch
out. All those dead meadows are just
rolling by.
-
My first job with a newspaper I was
hired in by a grand girl
who wrote their 'fashion' pieces -
covered such things as
Fashion Week and new-design openings
and parties galore.
It was good, though I had nothing to
do with that - covering
meetings and town boards and
council, as they argued over
sewer bills or raises for the guys
who did the garbage. A few
bedraggled locals always raging on
about some pothole here
or a new house there, town and boro
engineers farting in their
soup trying to answer what they
didn't hear.
-
Every night of the week, or four
anyway - it seemed. Listen
to this, do that, Turn in a story by
11:15, edit and verify all
night long; facts and figures and
bullshit and drivel. By such
does the little man live. I'd have
traded for some skirts and
champagne anytime, screwing around
with the models, or
peeking beneath the transvestite's
skirt.
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