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LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village
Docking bay Let's just say there's no road that can get me out of here fast enough. So give me a couple minutes to set up my emotional pup tent. Remember, there's a difference between cheating at cards and not knowing how to play in the first place. This doesn't mean ideology is solely the domain of specialists. Neither is it hip-hugging, but instead is a kind of sand in the wet waistband of itself. Or a stubborn lash in the eye scanning the butcher shop's pink counters. By the time the conductor shouted "All aboard!" we'd already started to shuffle in that direction. At some point during the race, the dogs lost interest in the battered rabbit going in circles around the track. Making billions of calculations per second, but still disconnected from moment to moment, like a historical strobe light. Epileptic dialectic. Crews of underpaid janitors scrub the exhaust residue off the launching pad without the prismatic rainbows sunlight casts in puddles of leaked gas and oil. Frames upon frames upon frames. Um ... lots of stuff. A window briefly without brand names. I'll pass on the high art allusions. If you wipe your hands on faded blue jeans after eating greasy potato chips, you may leave dark streaks. I'm convinced the person in that TV commercial was flirting with me, though in retrospect I may be mistaken. I vaguely kept waiting for something to happen, but a poem doesn't always come after.