she said, what i find interesting

about this photograph is what the passerbys–“

the pedestrians?

“yes, the pedestrians, the motorists, those riding on bikes, QUIT INTERRUPTING ME–“

the skateboardists?

“the rollerbladers, the people sitting having lunch. all of them. i wonder what they think of a photographer taking a picture of a camera crew caputuring a tee vee image of martha stewart?”

i love it when you stimulate my mind, do you know that?

“no, seriously,” she said. as if being serious ever stopped me from cracking jokes, “how weird must that look from across the street or emerging from the subway.”

do you know that youre the only girl i ever think about?

“i bet you say that to all the girls.”

yes, but i only mean it with you.

“you dont think about the others when youre with them?”


“you dont say nice things to them?”

no, not really.

“and they put up with that?”

yeah, they seem to want to do things to make me say nice things.


and you, i say nice things, and you ignore them and toss me aside like a peice of errant string that you discover on your skirt.

“is that why you like me?”

i like you because i can see whats deep down, and i can see the layers, and i can see the wall, and i can see all the crazy energy all around it, and its mezmorizing.

“thats not how you spell that.”

dont change the subject.

“did that chick really blow you off to see ‘scooby doo’?”


“dont you feel like a chump?”

i always feel like a chump.

“say something else nice to me.”

your eyes are like fireflies…

56. hemingway

57. we are full of shit

58. ny dreams

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