Walking thru Union Square in the rain. My umbrella falls apart. As I collect the parts a beautiful young girl stands in front of me - here, take mine. I say no, I couldn't ... and she says, no I live right here and I have too many of them in my apartment. I thank her and move on - my grumpy mood washed away by a surprising action.
Bye
My old apartment is completely empty ex for an almost empty bottle of Windex. It’s been less than a week since I left it and now it’s unlocked. I like to go down and visit. There’s something strange and special about an empty apartment. Besides the echo - it evokes a number of things for me. The past, the future, quietude, melancholy, loss, Last Tango in Paris - where Brando and the young French sexpot both check out a beautiful empty apartment and I think Brando rents it and they meet there and have wild sex and he makes her promise to never say or tell him her name and vice versa and it's such a wild fantasy, two nameless people flooring it again and again for good or bad underneath a night skyway in the City of Lights.
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