Arrival

After ten hours, one Whiskola, two screaming kids, and a very shit movie I finally got to the city that never sleeps. My big fear of being retained for ten hours and have a portly officer shove his fist up my puckering asshole fortunately didn't materialise. I picked my suitcase off the conveyor belt and headed towards the Airtrain which would take me to the Subway. On the platform I met a Hare Krishna guy, who I asked for directions. In normal circumstances I would have never gotten close to a Hippy of such astounding proportions, but he was the only soul on the platform, and jet lag was blurring my punk rules. He was actually quite nice, and for the hour long journey towards Manhattan we had a good conversation about life, traveling and decadent pasts. He tried to convince me life was about love, I tried to convince him that only hate is constant. This hippy encounter led me to reconsider my view on these people, and I now believe that perhaps you shouldn't ALWAYS set fire to a hippy when you see one, maybe just punch them real hard in the gut. We parted ways at Erstrand station, where I had to change trains onto the C line. I arrived at Clinton/Washington station and hauled my luggage up the stairs. I exited and found myself in the middle of a Spike Lee film. The cars here are fucking huge, and they are usually driven by ex members of the G-Unit. I felt a bit out of place until I saw a middle aged white guy in a Cabriolet. He pulled up next to me and beeped his horn, and at that point I realised he thought I was a male prostitute. I told him to fuck off, flipped him off and hastily made my way across the street. Low buildings ran up and down the street and I tried to make sense of the directions I'd been given by my friend Nicole. I realised I was getting rather lost so I looked around to ask someone for direction. Fortunately there was someone coming my way, I gave him a friendly nod and walked towards him. It was only when I was a couple of metres away that my shit eyesight engaged and I realised he was a crack head. "You look like you're lost boy"said he,"erbbb....yep so it seems" said I. "You don't want to get lost around here dude" was his next line, which made me start shitting a brick, considering I had all my Benjamins in cash money, my laptop, and my frail but oh so sexy body to offer. Nonetheless all my preconceptions were thankfully shattered when he gave me the directions I desired and smiled at me with a mouthful of three brown teeth.

370 Grand Ave. finally came up, I walked up the stoop (stairs that head up to the main door) and rang the bell. Nicole came down and we gave each other a big hug. I haven't seen her in a couple of years, and was well happy to hear her Southern Belle accent again. After a bit of Idle chat we headed off into the warm Brooklyn night to get a beer and something to eat. It feels weird here, I've seen this scenery so  many times in films that it feels like I've already been here. I half expect to see Al Pacino round the corner, a barrage of bullets to start flying past me, or fucking Godzilla to take a dump on me. But alas no, all I see is nice people sitting on stoops listening to music and a bunch of hot looking hipsters parading down the street, happy that the summer warmth has arrived.

We get a Mojito at a Cuban stand and chat and smoke cigarettes. People don't smoke much here. We end the night by drinking huge tequila chasers at a small shady bar, and head back to Nicole's for some rest. Monday is memorial day, and no one has to work, so we'll head into Prospect Park and have a picnic. More shenanigans to come...

Love an, all