8 Hours in Manhattan.

So.

Seven hours later, after leaving Cooperstown, in upstate New York; here I find myself in a three story McDonald's on 42nd Street in the ominous metropolis of Manhattan. Only here in this urban sprawl would they have free Internet services at each table of Mickey Dee's. I feel like such a damn Rube. Chicken McNuggets are perty damn tasty, though. With a medium Dr. Pepper. Ahhh. Listening to Danny Elfman's version of I am the Walrus on my iPod. Fucking genius. Looking out the gynormous plate window watching the river of people bustling to and fro amid their million of concerns. The city is one big fucking parking lot, car traffic seems to be at a standstill. Oh, I guess yer wondering what happened from then until now. Okay, let me relate the journey...

The trip was long but interesting. Passing farmlands and rural vistas of gold, orange, burgundy. Fall is here. Stopped in one small town and talked with a cute dark haired farm boy, he wanted to leave the farm and go to New York City and be a big country singer. He'd make a good Rent Boy. Poor chap. Bought my Dr. Pepper and a Snickers and got back on that bus. There was an eight-hour stop over in New York City. Entering Manhattan was weird. For hours you’re traveling through the woods. You then drive around a bend and WHAM; there is this god damn gigantic city skyline stretching from horizon to horizon. Buildings stretching up out of the shit and concrete, clawing at the moon. The Greyhound bus thrusting through Lincoln Tunnel like a penis up Manhattans ass all the way to the Port of Authority; a multilevel structure in the middle of Lower Manhattan. Once there I put my bags in storage and tried to do as much as possible in eight hours. First, stopped off in a tea room...er, public restroom in the long corridors of this underground labyrinth, man there was some heavy cruising going on. But, no time for random orgasms, I have some touring to do. Checking myself in the mirror, a Cuban guy complimented me on my Toxic Boy T-shirt. "Thanks." I smiled and hit the town.

The streets were teeming with a mass of rapidly walking bodies all going somewhere...nowhere. I zipped down, down, down the spiraling staircase under the 42nd Street Station. Some scrawny hip black cat was tootling on a saxophone. Pretty good, tipped him a five. I rode on a subway over to Times Square and got hit up for drugs on every corner. The sky filled with glowing flickering billboards the size of football fields, the smell of sewage and car exhaust caused them to be hazy and overbearing.

I walked down Broadway and gawked at the billboards for the various plays in the theaters. There was a gigantic poster of David Hasselhoff and one of Mike Teevee, my digital camera was snapping overtime. I hit the porno theaters and paid a dollar to watch this couple fuck behind a glass window. Man, did that ugly fucker have a hairy ass and the girls hooters were floppy like puppy ears. Ew. It was in a circular room and I think the fat little pervo opposite me was more interested in me than the show. After the dude came to some sorta climax, I walked back out into the night and found the NBC building. I had a hot dog from a cart and ate pretzels and hot chestnuts.

I asked this fat old queer in purple tight sweats and a fake permed wig walking a chihuahua on a leash where the fuck the Empire State Building was. He pointed it out and said "There the fuck it is." But, again I wasn’t impressed; I thought it would be bigger. Last time I was here I saw it from afar. It was all decked out in Christmas colors...red, green, yellow. He asked me, this titanic homo with an imperious and fay glance; if I would come to his house for a drink. Nope. Waved goodbye and I took the smelliest cab in the world back to Port of Authority and stood at the entrance people watching. And, yes, the thought did cross my mind to stay in this metropolis, but I have this Homer Simpson hatred to this town. I was even cruised by this cute black guy outside the Port of Authority terminal. He wanted me to go to his apartment but there wasn’t time. Instead, I found this McDonald's and thought I would grab a bite and type this shit out for posterity.

Oh! I went into the Mega-Virgin Bookstore and bought the Edgar Rice Burrough's anthology of his first three Martian Novels all in one volume. Neet-o.