At the Windmill. Two women nearby are smoking cigarettes and listening to music. I have been catching up on things back at Sorabji Central. Telling everyone who might care that I saw Stephanie and Doug, and the random encounter with Molly (not her real name). Writing a story for the public site about the trip, not that anyone cares. I am interested in putting Stacie Sierra’s name (and picture) out there in case anyone still thinks about her, and knows how to correctly spell her name.
Made a laborious attempt at randomness yesterday, using the LinkNYC monoliths on Queens Boulevard. It did not work but I learned a few things. I set up conference calls and dial in from the Links. As the host I play some kind of audio on an endless loop. This time it will be the kind of insane sound of a muppet doing some kind of children’s program. It’s from a cassette tape I found in the parking lot of a gas station yesterday.
OK, these women are annoying as hell.
…
At the ghetto coffee shop. Starting to think that the Windmill is inhabited by the absolute backwash of humanity. And me.
Just took a half a panic pill, even as I did not really need it as badly as I have in the past. I’m a little worried about my supply. At least one of the pills seems to have disintegrated, I guess on account of having carried it to and from Florida in the Slappa bag. I guess I’ve never traveled with these particular pills. I also think I might have actually lost a few. Hmm.
I feel strangely serene. I do not know why, but maybe the week of social interactions was good for me. I’ve been repeating the story to myself about the college friend who came to New York and randomly encountered Ann, who lived across the street from me growing up. Somehow there must be a way to calculate the odds of something like that actually happening. Then again I would think most people have some kind of story like that to tell.
Going to be brief because as serene as I said I feel I’m also getting jumpy. Want to walk. To the Links, maybe.
