Feel so dislocated. Asked Dan if he wanted to go to Times
Square and see the ball drop. Negativo. So, I went to Manhattan by myself.
New Year's Eve in Manhattan. A freezing rain blew through
the dark streets. Above the city, far up in the misted rain, long beams of
yellow light swooped in circles through the black air. They were anchored to
the Empire State Building---that great phallic symbol, a monument to the proud
dreams of potency that is the spirit of New York City. And below, in the damp
neon labyrinth of the city itself, people hurry;
somewhere...everywhere...nowhere...
That was my direction. I combed the frozen festive streets
filled with the Eve's party goers. I was so sad and alone. Surrounded by a
million people and I feel so outside, unable to connect. I really wanted to go
home. Taking a subway, I made my way to Greenwich Village and brought in the
New Year amidst total strangers. It brought me down even more. I don't belong
here...I belong back in Tijuana. After being hit on by some scrawny old man in
a grey beard and a leather bike cap, I took the subway back to Brooklyn and
went to bed.
Early next morning before sunrise, I packed my duffel bag,
crept down the stairs, and left as John and Dan slept. I didn't even say
goodbye. I left those rich old queers and their boy to what they do best a slow
comfortable death.
As of this writing, I am sitting in the Port of Authority in
Manhattan waiting for my bus. I only had enough money to get me as far as
Tucson, Arizona. However, things will work out. I know it.
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