BLACK-EYED
'I want to pitch for the Giants and run for the Mets,
I want to drive one of them Cadillac Escalators, and
right to the top! As good as it gets!' He spun around
just once - it was a song of some sort, or at least a
tune for his hand to stretch out. Fifty cents here, a
dollar there. Funny stuff, good for the poor man.
-
All as it is, I'm stuck in a room with Melody Faye -
she's a local critic of, well, of just about everything.
We met in the hallway of the old Village Voice, in a
skinny building no wider than her waist; or maybe not.
Here, I'm holding her again; it just goes like that. We're
supposed to be talking about the Whitney, and we are.
In between gasps. That's how this new world goes.
-
As Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan sang, 'I been everywhere
man.' Or, no, maybe it was just 'Wanted Man in....' I can't
remember any longer those incidental things which once
pasted my scrapbook in memory for me. That's all over;
you may still look like the king's daughter, but it's not
important any more. I told her that as I was getting my
jacket and she was in the other room. We left together,
to go get a sandwich at some old downtown saloon.
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