SURREPTITIOUS
BERENGUER
Well, then the light of another morning will
soon be here as I get drunker than this again.
One more jaunt down this crooked alley between
two streets, the 23rd and 24th streets, I think,
I can get away with. The lampblack guy behind
the Chelsea Hotel he'll let me in. His girlfriend
goes by Chadrala, I think it was, can't remember,
close to Shangri-La but different. Why can't they
just be normal anymore - like a Karen or a Kathy.
There's a chestnut horse barn out around the corner -
not the horse, it's not chestnut, but the barn there
is for the chestnut vendors when they bring in the
carts - reload, new charcoal, new boxes of raw
chestnuts to toast. And it's not really a barn either,
but this is New York and that's how they call things.
Kind of by use. It's a place like a barn if it were a barn.
Where horses go to eat. I don't know. How'd this all
get started? I was drinking way too late. All those
people, claiming to know my name, start singing
some birthday song when all I wanted to do was
go home. Now nothing, just this. I'm small and
enraptured and tired and bored. And drunk.
No comments:
Post a Comment