Tag Archives: places

new york

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a guy plays sax for coin on the corner of 6th avenue and 55 street. mechanical rabbits and cats dance to the beat. a few walkers tap their feet to the rhythm, sway to the sound. but give no dime. they’re too busy waiting to cross. pass the manhole covers venting steam in the 31 heat. they cross. on their way to meet. sit in a bar. sip a cool beer.
outside barnes & noble on 5th avenue a grey old man sleeps. head on a box. slumbered. he holds a sign in one hand. black marker pen: please help i am homeless, oh god save us all, oh god save us all. he makes no dollar. he doesn’t notice.
the street sellers set up their plastic crates with goods for the night crowds. genuine rolexes and gucci bags for a ten. they give their patter to the tourists. everything is for sale. even souls.
the queue builds outside the rock. the red carpet awaits. cool efficiency bundles the bodies in for a view like no other. come enjoy the ride. sorry the tops closed. lightning expected.
the wise seek shelter in the air-cooled diner. iced lattes and milk shakes with candy floss. all day breakfast. delivered with a smile. they work hard for their tip. the manager smiles.
in dillon’s the locals drink ice-cool beer and watch the sports on the many screens. how we doing in paris? there is the crack of the pool table as the screen light gleams off the copper jars hanging from the ceiling.
in the bar of the renwick hotel loud music plays. you have to sell a kidney to pay for a beer. they take your money with a smile. a drunk new yorker tells you about his wall street deals and visit to london. he’s scathing of both. but it is no better here.
the strand bookstore. the lost wander the shelves looking for loved ones. they find them hardbound. there is the smell of coffee by the graphic novels and teenage girls browse the romance novels. not that one – my mum would kill me!
lafayette is a place of chilled wine and flaky pastry. pistachio cream filled croissants are devoured eagerly as talk turns to the best shops for sneakers. have you tried macy’s?
in the white horse tavern in west village tourists drink cocktails and tell stories of dylan thomas. you can’t help thinking the place was better then.
empty boutique stores in greenwich village display designer goods without the price tag. no one goes in. the locals instead walk their dogs and talk of the best place to get coffee.
in washington square the young play for the crowds. street sellers have handcrafted trinkets. you can play chess for a fee. a bare chested man practices his dance moves. too vigorous. his shorts fall down. unperturbed. he dances on.
times square you get bundles by mickey and his friend mickey. with mickey. their mouse features are fixed grinned. menacing. the screens pop ads encouraging you to spend. come on! embrace the american dream.

moment 19

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he rode at the back. wheels turning like a ‘45. three gears weren’t enough. the heavy frame of the Chopper didn’t help either. yellow with long slung handlebars and a seat two could fit. he would collect his sister from brownies. her sat behind him as he peddled home. complaints of silver cleaning. there was that one time they had got stopped by the police for riding on the pavement. and for her sat like that. they had got off and walked until the police car was out of sight. then they had enjoyed the speed of the hill. the air through the air. the thrill of doing something risky. the blur of the hedges of houses. the slow stop at the bottom on worn brakes. but now he rode at the back. his friends ahead up the curving hill. cursing the bike as the distance grew. they laughed ahead with calls and the joy of being on an adventure. he wanted to be home. to rest his legs. he wanted a bike like theirs. 10 speed racer with thumb wide frame. large wheels to reduce the need for peddling. he glanced up at the trees that curved down over the road that let in a pattern of light. hints of another world on the road. one of shapes that flicker or gently sway with an occasional dart of black birds. as he reached the big bend, ian was waiting for him. they both gave a knowing smile of best friends and continued together. ian in front, him struggling behind. just as he thought they would be cycling to the heavens, they met the others in a break in the line of trees. a narrow track led into a wood, the path muddy with pools of water. mirrors of a dark canopy. they bumped along.  surrounded by the tall netherworld of tree trunks.  pine leaf forest of brown and silence. that felt as if they had left the world behind. the world of terraced houses, back garden borders, and too interested neighbours. a world of cars, people and school work. but now they were the four outside the realms of people. the four knights on their stallions, although his was a nag, entering the world of fairies and maidens. until they met a fence. a new wooden fence with a gate. they pushed it open, undeterred and rode on the trail. banks of mud now rearing on either side, topped with small trees and bushes. a turn to the right and they were there. almost hidden but if you knew the secret you could find it. the lake. the lake older than the lady rising with a sword. the lake still with secrets and deep depths. they left their steeds.  and sat by the water’s edge. pulling out sandwiches covered in silver foil from their jackets. too happy to say anything. they had reached the fabled prize and were receiving their reward.