5889. FITZGERALD AND JOHN

FITZGERALD AND JOHN

These guys are movie-makers. Eighth Ave.,

over by 23rd  -  art gallery slaloms and the

striving trollers, they're running the street

now with cameras  -  things all strapped 

to brackets and arms. A few useless

construction workers are watching  -

they do nothing but sit to talk about the

'old lady's pajamas' or who they'd like

to fuck. Every day, mind you, every

day of cigarettes and bananas. I watch;

the signals go on and off. The red light

is off, everyone can now relax. We

move to Bryant Park, slowly, like a

working swarm of extras  -  the scene

will change. Over there, by the curtain,

a starlet stands about  -  as sleek and

well-oiled as a God's machine for

the waxy and elixer'd sky. The very

park itself tries bowing down

to fame and glory.