Dear Derek,
the place I have arrived in is named "Goodbye, Blue Monday," & could be compared to Le Voyer in Olympia only more pact to the brim with ironic & horrifying displays of the culture that often bleeds out between the seams of the past few decades. It seems my arrival has, in fact, occurred on a Monday, whether or not any degree of "blue" will be staved off on that account is yet to be determined.
A fantastic band named Crazy & the Brains is crooning something to the likes of "I don't want to do anything that I don't like / I just want to be on Saturday Night Live!" As you know, this is a goal of mine as well.
Several minutes have passed, & now a hefty man with a thick beard & dark, long hair parted down the middle is doing something which reminds me of sad, old bears who only groan because they've long since run out of growls. He is wearing an AK-47 tee shirt. I'm sure that you met many types like him on your tour across the country.
Sitting next to me is a girl who I imagine to be very pretty, though I cannot say for sure because I haven't worked up the courage to look upon her face. But the heels of her low-profile boots tap against the legs of her stool out-of-time with the music; I'd like very much to think up a clever entry point from which we could begin a conversation, though nothing profound comes to mind.
Across the room a mustachioed, mid-twenties townie in a gray tee-shirt which reads, "TALK NORMAL" is shaking his head from side to side to the implicit beat of the song, which makes me think that he's engaged, but disapproves strongly of the music. Just now he raised his fist & began shaking it about in the air. Again, an ambiguous gesture.
Living here is strange, in ways I haven't begun to understand. I often walk the streets looking up in a simultaneous state of awe and terror. I'm thinking of writing a Timefighters column on the subject, titled "Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places."
Just so you know, the girl who was sitting next to me before has gotten up to leave, though just before, we managed to look at one another, & share a brief smile.
This evening I watched dusk arrive from the base of a tree in Central Park. A little tune began to hum out from my mouth. I don't know the notes, otherwise I would transcribe it onto a musical staff for you. Soon enough, words began occupying those notes until I had a handful of verses about not asking another for love, but to just be close enough to feel their breath as they speak. I was rather pleased with this sketch as I made my waty to the 6, & then the J train, though, by now it's gone the way of most dreams.
Keep on dreamin'.
- Otis Pig
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