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Ye shall, from time to time, Pump gas at the Junior Food Mart, Ye shall notice the way a plaid shirt's straight lines shift With the spine of the guy in front of you, stretched over that broad back, and you will go to sleep later, thinking of roadways that roll endlessly away from your fingers, as you stretch them and step on the gas. *** Even the solemn little girls licking ice cream in the plaza know you telegraph your punches And the boys that hang in front of the Lucky Seven, passing quarters and grinning know your glass jaw well but if you'd like to spar, I can arrange for soft landings. When I knock you out, you'll love the stars in your eyes. *** Over at the Wawa, you can drop a dime on me. Anytime you need a ride downtown, or just want to recreate our fabled three-day Monopoly tournament, the one where I leant you cash at interest when Community Chest screwed you over. Just remember I'll collect one of these days, when I feel like a ride on the Reading, and who doesn't feel like that sometimes? We'll get started early, and I get to work the whistle, right? I love all that hollow kind of noise. *** The afternoon we spent mapping all the best bodegas between 96th Street and Carroll Gardens Will always remain in a little white corner of my heart: the handwritten lists of where to get the best Thai sandwiches and Ecuadorian sodas, a New York for just the two of us, the detailed and deliciously inclined. posted by Reen |link| 0 comments |