WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?
17th Street, 19th Street, I don't know and I can't
tell. Every finicky Asian with a job is standing
outside his fabric store or flower shop wasting
some moments away. The ones who smoke are
smoking - mid-30's American women grown
down in the heel, outlasting their connections to
Brooklyn or Queens or Long Island. It's all the
cheery same. On the corner, the coffee shop
palpitates with those on their screens.
-
I can't tell 'nothing anymore' : the difference is nil
as a taxi goes by just pretending. I get to W21st, way
out, and the art galleries just start piling up their
expensive quills - paintings and prices, each
in the 'mills. What know I of any of that?
-
Oh Teri Hatcher get my coat, Eddie Arnold, get
my hat, sir. All these famous people now old and
thin - too thin like Mike McGlynn and dying, dying
fast. Then here comes Stella McCartney stretching
by and some other famous guy behind her.
-
'Yes, I came to see but now I see it's not just you
it's also me....' Their voices trail off to oblivion.
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