The walk to the subway has become a sensuous experience. Every step feels like I’m swallowing an ocean. The graffiti on the metal grate at the laundromat is seldom visible to me, as the grate is usually raised and not visible during daylight hours. Garbage cans are stuffed and overflowing. I purchased a banana at the 24-hhour place, again securing the curious smirk of the cashier who, I believe, questions why I only buy that one item. It is a teaser item of sorts, intended to lure you in and buy buy buy. The 24-hour store will not be opened tomorrow. They deep clean the place every week on Mondays from midnight to 6am. The place has never received a letter grade or Department of Health inspection. The place replaced Salamis, a disfunctional deli the name of which is still etched onto the sidewalk. One of the pictures of me used for a newspaper article was taken outside the old Salamis, with the watchful eye of a former neighbor looking on from behind. I wonder if he knew he was in the papers, albeit as a photobomber.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Reaching 34th Street there is almost always a scene of ballers and gangbangers who’d been out all night. They are there for the St. James Deli, which serves food 24-7 except when they decide to close for a few days. Except for the sit-down diners on Broadway there is no other 24-hour place in this immediate vicinity, save for a flower stand. I fail to understand why 34th Avenue at 35th Street requires a 24-hour flower stand. Maybe it’s cheaper to keep it manned and open than to close up the whole shop. IIt is outside a C-Town.. If the C-Town was 24\/7 the flower stand’s hours would make sense to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sometimes find myself remembering the stripper I dated some years ago. She should be out of my mind by now but this walk along 34th Avenue is the walk we made between each other’s apartments. She lived 11 blocks away, and I walk past her place almost every day when it is feasible for me to do so. I want nothing more from her but I maintain a certain dim, dismal notion that something is possible, even when it certainly is not. She was my last attempt at building a so-called traditional relationship, with courtship and things moving at a steady pace. Since it ended with her all I really care about is daalliances and fuckbuddies. I did go through the motions of dating a woman for most of last year but my intentions were always to get as much sex as possible before the flicker of romance extinguished. In that sense things were going exactly as I had wanted them to go with the stripper. Our sex was good and getting better with every single encounter. I don’t take that for granted. I guess she did. She decided to cut me off, a decision she maazingly admitted later was a mistake. She is not prone to admitting to any kind of failure. As with the stripper, I think about her more than I should. But in this year of 2025 I have no prospects and nothing else to contemplate in this realm except the past. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a ruggedly beautiful woman on the subway today. I tried not to look but I couldn’t help it. She looked tired and like she was going to work on this Sunday before Memorial Day. She had a ring, which is no guarantee that she’s married, but it seemed likely. I don’t mess with marrieds. I’m also done with women half my age, after a string of madly disfunctional encounters with that age range. Although I do believe the Japanese Waif was lying about her age. Her timeline made no sense for her to have really been 26, and while Asians age well she did appear older than she claimed. Everybody lies about something. Some people lie about everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
People here are engaged in earnest (and loud) conversation but I am not participating. I made up my mind about this place: I speak when spoken to. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
I spoonerize a lot in my head, always intending to make something of an especially sharp result, but I rarely get anything written down. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
CAPER PLIPS<\/p>\n\n\n\n
POOS NAPER<\/p>\n\n\n\n
SWILL KITCH<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I guess the idea is to start with a spoonerism and morph it into something unique that no one would guess came from a simple bit of word trickery. THe term comes from one Reverand Spooner, who allegedly switched the first syllables of words with great frequency. The frequency element of the legend has been taken to task, as I understand it,\u00a0 but I can still appreciate calling The Lord a “shoving leopard.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The loud talkers have moved on to talk of food. I hate hearing people talk about food. I have a theory, though, that food is the only subject anyone ever talks about. When someone says “I just had a rough ride on the R train this morning” what they are really saying is “I put some parsley and a little bit of salt and pepper on my chitlins.” When someone says “The Lord is a shoving leopard” what they really mean is “Fruits and berries are awesome.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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