New York City, #1

From Sylvia's & John's Patio on 107th

NOTE: I'm in New York City. My good friends John and Sylvia have been kind enough to let me use their apartment on W 107th. I have some time to write and read and fiddle with the little pieces of my imagination. I miss Lee, my family and friends, and I miss El Paso, but this is good for me, going about my daily life. I've been writing sort of an imaginative daily journal. Here's part of it.

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I sat on the patio out in the brick canyon of apartment buildings between 106th and 107th, eating my dinner and drinking some wine. Somewhere in one of those windows a woman and a man were talking. But something changed. They were making love. The woman was giggling joyfully and then a nice sweet squeal at the end. The man was quiet in his duties and manly joy. Good for him. I hope they both slept well. Their ritual is celebrated in all of our different languages. Especially here in this city. Ask the Mayans. They say even the gods made love before they went to sleep. That was when the world was only black and white and some gray in-between. The world was boring back then. Making love was the best way to relax in the humdrum. This was the wisdom of the gods. They wanted to invent something to make our lives beautiful. They harvested the water and fire and earth and wind and they made the first rainbow. From the rainbow they smeared the gooey colors all over the place. It was exhausting work. The gods needed sleep. But first they made love in celebration—squeals and grunting all around the Milky Way. It was easy to sleep after that party. When they woke up, they invented New York City. I’m glad they did.