at a starbucks in carroll gardens, on smith street, sitting in the corner, feels like i should wear a dunce cap or like i should be the object of some kind of humiliation, what with me occupying the single seat and all.
i spotted a ULysses phone exchange number, so my work here is complete. i think it was a laundromat/dry cleaners on smith street.
i spent the night at a friend‘s place, 2 friends, that is. i invited myself over, in follow up to an open invitation to use the guest room any time i needed. i can‘t say i needed to get out of my place for the night but having not seen said friends in many months i took any excuse. the excuse was that the apartment building in which i live had no hot water for today. i must shower daily and so when i saw the sign in the lobby announcing ahead of time that no hot water would be available i first re-visited my old plan to go to baltimore, but a last-minute trip would cost about $500 (to stay at the hotel i want and take amtrak) which is a lot of coin for a shower. plus, there is no orioles game at camden yards this week, which would be key to that trip. then i looked at danbury, for to see charles ives‘ burial site once and for all, but somehow it just looked too solitary a trip.
the last time i considered calling these friends for guest room reservations was when jack died, and the building smelled like rotted flesh for 2 weeks. it was only the lobby of the building, though, where it really stunk, though the unfortunate occupants of the apartment directly upstairs from jack were unhappy with their accommodation during that period. blech.
the room in which i slept roared with noises from the BQE, and as i lay me down to sleep i felt like i had been transported back to 9 Cabrini Boulevard, #3C, where for about a year i slept as close to the George Washington Bridge as one can be while indoors. That was loud. I may have tapes of that noise. This was loud, too, but shutting the window made a huge difference, and i felt like a traveller by adapting to the situation, concentrating on sleep and an unfamiliar bed surface with strange pillows and, as the sun rose, bright sunshiney glare. my bedroom at home has blackout vinyl on the windows, so i sleep like in a tomb with little idea of when the sun rises.
sun shiney glare in my face ws not as bad a way to wake up as i remembered… very demanding but so what.
i shall go homeward through midtown, via the 181, where a magazine from 1898 awaits me.
