My Crazy (is Yours)

I can’t help but leave from work wounded, sweaty and unamused.

So much amusement in the city.  Tonight I eerily walked past a large woman screaming in a long yellow skirt.  She keeps repeating the same phrase..walking past her is taking long enough to notice it a few times over.

“Those of you with the cell phones and internet.  Who has the cell phone with internet? I’ll find you, I’m not afraid of you, I’ll scream at you, I’ll fucking beat you to death.  You’ll wish you went down when the twin towers went down.”

I was going to walk to a liquor store further down the avenue but ducked in quickly to another one because hellfire-yellow-skirt was closing in fast.

And the black man with the white beard, nodding, just nodding….crazily…by the subway entrance.  People want to be seen in New York, even when they’ve lost their mind.

They must want an audience, from one Roman to the next, my crazy is yours.

I’m fucking tired, even good things make me furrow my brow.  I think I’m at an age where I need to wear expensive grey suits, drink martinis and be so fucking successful,

every milestone becomes a pebble on big mountain.

I overhear a conversation at a Starbucks tonight a few tables down.  Yes, Starbucks has become a haven in a city of radical inconsistency.

A young 14 year old Asian girl is talking to a field hockey looking chick with braces.

“You want to know my theory…well I was sitting down at lunch time next to Jane….”

I envied the Asian chica’s intensity, her world is an ever unraveling blossom of mischief and conspiracy.  She repeats, “You want to know my theory…”

Part of me wants to scream at her, or just say bluntly, “no little one, stick those sensible little theories up your pretty little butt…”

I don’t envy 14, I don’t envy crazy, all I can do is stare at the variety of faces in New York City rushing forth and wish to jump into their pathetically similar tidal waves.

Or maybe not.  Honestly the more I learn about people, the wider my eyes grow.  A complex character lights the sparkler of interest.

Don’t tell me how weird you are, or what your “theory” is…let me figure that shit out.  Let me unravel it and jump back cause the sparks burn the tip of my nose.

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