Another day in New York, a sense of sowhat sets in, it's too hot for the jacket there's no room for in your bag and the streets are endless and there's another fucking event to attend to in the evening, the city could give a shit, a book, sowhat, the city is out doing its business, the business is everywhere, it takes cabs, it sits down at the French Roast on 6th ave. and bitches about the service while the service bitches about it, it buys a bag at the crumpler store in the West Village and sets up a card table with some old ladies on Elizabeth street. The business drives a Lincoln Town car and spits on books as it splashes through another ugly puddle, then has a drink at the horse shoe bar near Tompkin's Square, a Cape Cod, thank you very fucking much, then has another. The business, subset of the city, could care less as it sips its soy chai somewhere or other near the Natural History Museum and slaps its three cards down on the pavement and stirs up some action, while the sun hits everything a little too hot because you are travelling light and there is no room to stow your brown velvet jacket purchased at Target and looking travel stained but still pretty good. This city, with its business, which cares so little, while conjuring up so much caring, positive and negative, so much fuckyouverymuchmydarlingetc, as if it mattered, for a second, which it does, despite everything, whatthefuck. A cup of coffee with friends on 4th Street, a meeting at the Bergen Street F stop, 5 ft of pizza on Allen, early bird sushi at Esashi, sowhat isn'tsobad, the slice of ricotta cheese cake bread isn'tsobad, yeah, the smell of coffee spilling out of Porto Rico, sowhat