Walking around the streets of my old town .. the Upper West Side, where I lived and breathed.
Where Amy's boyfriend broke the bar sign ... Joe G. (and Jeff G. - Jg²!!) shared a "bromance" before there ever was such a thing ... Skinny Jen and her Nicolas Cage-looking fella consoled each other through various episodes ...
Where Rick and Judith became "JewRick" ... where the multi-talented Angry Black Man targeted his future wife (proving there's trueness to "love at first sight") ... Where "Humphrey Bumphrey", "Gus", "Sergeant (Pepper)" and "Ass Feast" (don't ask!) trod the boards ... "Zoo Loser" and her sister, "Scab" (...seriously);
Where Rick and Judith became "JewRick" ... where the multi-talented Angry Black Man targeted his future wife (proving there's trueness to "love at first sight") ... Where "Humphrey Bumphrey", "Gus", "Sergeant (Pepper)" and "Ass Feast" (don't ask!) trod the boards ... "Zoo Loser" and her sister, "Scab" (...seriously);
where Wolf and Ernest prowled the streets, the latter with his harelip up, a picture frame around his neck ('cause he was "FRAMED!", see?); or imploring passersby who'd listen, "What's the greatest nation on earth?"
Why, that would be the "Dough-nation!
"Donate to the United Negro Pizza Fund?" Ernest would ask, and I always would. For one thing, Ernest was pleasant ... He was personable. Not full of these fake Munchausen-esque self-pity syndromes, sitting planted on the sidewalk in people's way.
No, Ernest didn't have a new scrawled sign with a different sob story, in a different neighborhood, each night or week. He didn't dress up for Halloween and make angry demands ... nor did he own a cell phone or iPad and sit there entitledly, chatting or tapping away on the sidewalks while fully expecting someone, at least, to rain into his paper cup ...
No, Ernest didn't have a new scrawled sign with a different sob story, in a different neighborhood, each night or week. He didn't dress up for Halloween and make angry demands ... nor did he own a cell phone or iPad and sit there entitledly, chatting or tapping away on the sidewalks while fully expecting someone, at least, to rain into his paper cup ...
Ernest spoke for his place and time, in a way, and his generation: he was engaged, first off ... He would make eye contact ... made an effort ... He was annoying, a little, but not unpleasant or nasty.
My pal Wolf, on the other hand ...
Though Wolf was also engaged: in keeping alive, afloat, on the move (always prowling) ... He was never just sitting there, obnoxiously waiting. Wolf, and I'm pretty sure, friendly Ernest, would have accepted employment had it been offered. Neither seemed entitled or above it all (despite appearing on, and of, the streets) ... and neither one of them was overtly faking.
I think of old friends on the Upper West Side, and acquaintances and names I knew ... More clearly envisioning 20+ years ago, than my life here this century, which ended last decade ...
I've moved on. Though I still think of Amy, Joe G., Skinny Jen ... auld FU in general ... Wolf, Ass Feast (!), the Angry Black Man and Ernest ... and I think still of Zorro, who loved to dream ...
Each night, caught her traipsing her mangy hound here ... the two of them dressed to the nines, fit to kill!
Then, "Zorro" was sixty, if she was a day ... apparently living to find a friend. I followed her down for ten blocks the first time, the wide and noisy street between us: me, on the east of Columbus, that is, and she and her mutt traipsing down on the west side ...
And Zorro flicked hair from a flattish sombrero, this dyed blonde, unruly and posthumous mane. Her little pooch cried out as well ... the two of them begging, imploring attention ...
It was me, though, who tanked on that need as they vibed there! That mutt, but outrageous, and yapping like mad.
"Sssshh," Zorro pampered and squatted down then ... to cuddle and fondle and soothe her dog friend ... and down there like that, her short skirt rode up high, and her narrow and varicose thighs kissed the midnight.
... As much as it hurts me to realize, admit it, I've outgrown New York. Or it's left me behind ... or I've simply and finally, indeed, moved on.
