Gutter punks

within the last month there has been a change on myrtle avenue. the population has opened up to a small eccentric minority: gutter punks. the first time i saw one i was approaching her from behind, walking faster and on my way to san remo, i thought she was a normal girl coming off a rough night, but then i saw her face and realized she was deadly serious in her tormented wanderings, she wore a ragged Germs t-shirt and i marveled at how truly filthy she looked. she was heading in no direction, moving slowly. it fascinated me. what in the world was she doing on myrtle avenue? she was definitely not shopping for an oscillating fan. was she lost?

the last thing i expected would be for her to stay, but she has. in fact she has a friend, a man who sits with her. the two of them have a cat, a very small and loyal kitten. the cat cleans himself while the gutter punks stare out into oblivion, their cardboard request for money in front of them. the good people of myrtle avenue gazing in disbelief at the three of them. sometimes the girl reads newspapers, right there on the sidewalk outside the mandee store.

one time i saw the guy walking down myrtle opposite me. he was wearing a back pack. a police car pulled up next to him and the cop said, "where's your girl?" and he replied laughing, "she ain't my girl. she's up that way" and pointed towards queens. the cops smiled, waived, and pulled away in the opposite direction. it was as if they were old friends. the gutter punk proceeded to stop a man who had just left a store and asked him if he could spare a cigarette. the man didn't think twice, he gave him a cigarette.

i believe everyone on myrtle is secretly fascinated by, and gently obsessed with, these gutter punks. what does their presence imply about our neighborhood strip? punk culture aside, i've also noticed standard grade deadbeats high as a kite on heroin, barely capable of holding themselves up. one guy was sitting outside the carvel ice cream shop with his face completely euphoric and tilted to the sky, he was only there in body. yesterday i saw a man slumped over outside mcdonalds somehow suspending an unlit cigarette between his lips, and another time i watched some derelict puke his guts out into the garbage can on the corner outside deli catering. these kinds of things simply never happened on myrtle until about a month ago.

there are an inordinate number of closed down shops on myrtle, but people are still shopping and the rent in the area is going up. brooklyn transplants have taken notice of myrtle's proximity to manhattan and people from all over the country are winding up here. all of us, the hispanics, the blacks, the polish, and the white college grads... we all share the experience of this phenomenon. the gutter punks are iconic, newly arrived. the rest of us have shared this avenue for years in relative anonymity and perhaps there is some jealousy there.

we are familiar with crime and we know how to protect ourselves from danger, but these junkies and gutter punks seem to be harmless to everyone except themselves. what are we to do with them? do our thugs rob them? do our police harass them? do we shun them and pity their little cat friend? no. if anything they are a testament to our recent success. they are here to ask for our change. we are a demographic worth mooching off. we are a prosperous and inviting community.

New things

it was an overcast afternoon. three kids were out of school and en route to the domestic universe by way of myrtle. hunched over outside of a women's clothing store, very eagerly examining what any former child knows could only have been an insect. the three of them, crouching around a sidewalk tree. two girls and one little brother, huddled down beneath the branches and oblivious to the pedestrians.

they were doing child experiments on the bug, seeing how it reacted to various stimuli. one of the girls stomped the ground next to the bug to see if she could get a rise out of it. the other two leaned in on their knees to see what would come of this. these little people did not exist in the twentieth century.

Home

it's not that
until you can walk
to the bathroom
in the dark
without bumping
into anything

new york
is not that
until you start
dodging pigeons
who fly too slowly
out of your way

The Rome Express

there is a 24 hour bodega on the corner of myrtle and forest road. they carry zywiec beer, $2.25 for a tall bottle. that's a good polish beer. i used to go there all the time and purchase these late at night, two of them. i'd take them back to my apartment and drink them while quietly watching british sketch comedies from the 90's on the internet, trying to drown out the sound of my 41 year old roommate having sex with her boyfriend.

going to the 24 hour bodega was only pleasant 50% of the time. it depended on which clerk was working. the nice clerk or the unfriendly clerk. the nice clerk said things to me that were not entirely pertinent to our transaction. he replied when i asked him how he was doing. you could just tell he was a good guy. he watched sports during his shifts and guys from the neighborhood would hang around and watch with him. the unfriendly clerk uniformly frowned at me like i was all the bad news he'd ever heard. he always seemed to be listening to katy perry songs and i don't think he enjoyed them.

i bought beer from the unfriendly clerk moments after finding out osama bin laden had been killed. he was the very first person i told. i walked in there, it was almost eleven o'clock at night, feeling some form of surreal patriotic disbelief. i am pretty sure i was one of the first 700,000 people to hear the news, so i was excited to let them know at the 24 hour bodega. i thought this could mark a shift in our strained relationship.

did you hear the news?

he looked up at me forlornly as if to say, the only news i'm hearing is the bad news of your presence.

they got bin laden! a special group of soldiers. they had a helicopter. isn't that amazing?

he shrugged and took my five, bagged my zywiecs and handed me my change. maybe he thought i was tricking him or else innocent in my insanity. i went home feeling like maybe i was wrong about bin laden being killed. maybe i misunderstood the news and would have to apologize to the unfriendly clerk next time i saw him.

during the day, the 24 hour bodega was another place entirely. the bamboo plants and flowers outside sparkled in the myrtle sun and there was a lady clerk who was never there at nights. she presided over the sun kingdom, not the moon kingdom. it was weird to be in the same place and be somewhere different. it was like a friend who lived in an apartment where you used to only like half the tenants.

i would order a fantastic sandwich from her called the rome express. she would turn around and say to the shadowy man in the sandwich area, "one rome express on a roll" and then i would look around, admire the new chef boyardee logo and read the headlines on the newspapers. i would marvel at the lesser known / more exotic flavors of top ramen and scoff at the price of tostitos cheese dip. then my sandwich would be ready and she would smile at me, "rome express." it was like buying a train ticket.

First frozen banana

a man stopped me and asked if there was a sprint store on myrtle. the person obviously picked me out because they could tell i was someone who knew a great deal about myrtle. i had been wearing headphones so i had to turn off my music and remove them in order to even hear what the question was.

"is there a sprint store around here?"

i wanted so badly to know the answer but it was just out of reach. i don't use sprint for my telephone provider, i use at&t, so i don't notice when i'm in the vicinity of a sprint store - they just don't blip on my radar. of course anyone who has been on myrtle avenue knows in their heart that this is a street that has a sprint store. they may not know exactly where it is, but they know it's here. i told the man, "yes, there is a sprint store around here."

"where is it?"

"i do not know."

the man laughed, so i laughed too. then we went our ways.

weeks later i stumbled upon the sprint store on myrtle. i knew i could picture it and there it was, exactly where it belonged in time and space, a sprint store on myrtle. occupying its perfect location like a god-sent strand of hair on earth's head.

i remembered the man who had been looking for the sprint store. i wonder if he ever found it? he seemed like a friendly, good person - much better than your average at&t subscriber. i decided to learn more about the sprint network community. i walked into the store and found a pile of informational pamphlets and picked one up. a man in a polo shirt inquired, "how can i help you?"

"just having a look around." i said with a smile, holding up the pamphlet in a goodbye gesture. when i pulled the handle on the door it popped right off the door-frame and stayed there in my hand. i stood there holding a long thin aluminum door handle, unable to make my exit, gazing helplessly at the man in the polo shirt. he assured me it happens all the time and instructed me from across the room on how to reinstall it.

i wondered what his role with the company was if it did not include fixing the door when it breaks off in a customer's hand. perhaps the person with that job was on his lunch break or had been recently fired. i could have asked if they were hiring but my instincts told me to to leave it be so instead i went home and retrieved the banana i'd left in the freezer that morning. it was the first frozen banana i ever ate. they do not get as hard as popsicles.

Strange resume

a woman tells you about

how her neighbors used to dress their dogs

when she lived in the trump building

like they were hollywood starlets

and wants to know if you're hiring

Beyond my bedroom door

Pouring a cup of coffee, stirring some cinnamon into it. It's late spring in Ridgewood, Queens early afternoon sunshine glowing off the totally white walls. The shadows of pigeons swirling around the room, dipping and diving in the clear blue sky as a single unit like fish do. From the bathroom comes the sound of running water and voices in the shower.

..wash your ass!

...hm?

...wash your ass!

...yea i know

wash the inside of your ass!
...it smells!

Bach's violin sonatas
skate across the linoleum
over the carpet
into my room
Closing my door

cinnamon coffee
the internet
birds

Joker

From 1st Ave to Lorimer St. with Andria and his girlfriend.

 

Valeria used to live in a squat in London. She and her friends would steal animals from the zoo; she had snakes, a scorpion, a tarantula, two dogs and a monkey. At one point she also had a giant rabbit monopolizing an unused room and a baby kangaroo who did not 'work out.' She also had a sheep whom the neighbors signed a petition to kill, and then they ate it. The monkey was named Jolly, which translates in Italian to Joker.

My wild side

go stand out in the hallway
and i'll go fall asleep
push the buzzer, don't be denied
invite me to my wild side

now take this bucket full of pears
fling them at my head
get smart if i should try to hide
i'll meet you on my wild side

invite me to my wild side
you'll get your answer there
call forth your hands
insane demands!
invite me to my wild side

pour ice water on all my clothes
pan fry this deck of cards
kindly paint the curtains grey
do not ask about my day

invite me to my wild side
can't believe i had to ask
buckets of pears don't buy themselves
my life's alive, the nouns decried
invite me to my wild side