sawa

Yeah, you are exactly right. It was the Chelsea.
I have mostly very fond memories of the place,
actually. The cool abstract art in the lobby. The
place I got to sleep with my favorite gal poet after reading at Colombia, the fucking school that tossed me a few years earlier. And here I
be, sharing the big stage, with this lovely and
gorgeous Irish gal ... later the sound of the rain
on the iron brocades outside the windows. And
mostly Hamill, who adopted me like a kid brother.
Magical Pete, who, when he gave me his room
once when I had no place to stay in town, Pete,
who said, "are you hungry," and then we went
into the basement, and like Batman, there was his two-seater, and we whipped and skidded on wet streets up the East Side, and a table waiting for us at Elaine's, and I end up with Bob Fosse -- Bob Fucking Fosse -- on my left at the small dinner party that followed, and Pete finally taking me to the famous Friday's
Carnegie Deli Lunch for the Famous Old Jewish
Comedians, and me & Pete sitting among them,
while tourists slapped flashes, and Henny Youngman saying "Oh yeah there is Pete Hamill.
Pete went out with Jackie Kennedy, you know.
The Golden Boy. Yeah Peter. Old Pete, you know, he has the Midas touch. The Midas Touch. Everything he touches turns into a
Muffler. (I realize that might me local: Midas
perhaps being only a famous NYC muffler shop?) Oh well, you bring up some good memories, girl. Please come visit some time,

Have a great summer, and please stay in touch,

Drago

PS: The place I mostly stayed however was
the Grammercy Park. oh so elegant. Dizzy
Gillespie and movie stars in the lobby. O NY,
how I pine for you out here in the sticks.

Ya know I've never left the country. Never even been to Canada or Mexico.

For lack of a better term, it seem so foreign to me. So alien. I just assume people in other countrys don't poop and live in the trees. They also don't communicate vocally. They use signs or telepathic abilites.

I'm not that naive, I'm from Wyoming.