The Adventures of The Absent Minded Albino (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} scotttaylor) wrote,@ 2006-05-10 13:43:00 |
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New Friends
I was wandering around lower Manhattan by myself at 1:30am last night because, well, I'm an idiot. I walked out of where I was and looked around. Pretty empty street, save for a black dude with a yellow shopping bag and a stocking cap. I head towards the Bowling Green subway station for the long, long ride home.
The man from the street walks into the station right before I do. When we get there, some transit workers let us know the station is closed. I head out of the subway station and look at my pocket map, attempting to decide which alternate route I'd like to take home.
The man sees me standing there, and comes up and asks me a question about the J train that I can't answer. He asks where I am heading and I say Washington Heights. I tell him I'm gonna head to a station at Fulton Street. He says he's heading that way, too. "Let's walk together," he says.
"What are you doing out so late?" I ask.
"Oh, I just got out of jail," he says. "I was just getting drunk with my friends." He tells me when he got out he went to Staten Island to get some clothes from his sister, but his sister threw all his stuff away. "Probably to make room for the next guy," he says.
It takes all my will power to not ask him what he did to go to prison.
He doesn't know how long he will be out, he says, but for now he is enjoying the sweet air. I breathe it in. It smells not unlike urine.
"This is the city that never sleeps," he says. "For as much to do there are layers of things you shouldn't be doing underneath." He looks up at a building and stops in the street. "TURN THE LIGHTS OFF!" He yells, as loud as he can, and the sound echoes. He tells me the lights are always on so planes don't fly into Manhattan buildings. Huh.
He asks what I am doing in the area and I tell him I picked up some night work. His eyes get wide. His woman bailed him out, see, but he only has sweats because his sister is a bitch. I ask him what kind of work he is looking for. "Anything, man," he says, "I am real sharp. Once it's in here I master it." He points at his head.
He points out the World Trade Center site. Tells me he was in a hospital in Brooklyn when a young Chinese doctor said "there's something freaky going on." Then he went to the window and saw the first plane hit. That's some interesting timing.
Then he said he hoped I wasn't secret service and going to arrest him right there, but he is sure that Bush knew about 9/11 and planned it as an excuse to go to war in Iraq and get revenge for his father. He then acted out the My Pet Goat fiasco, but swapped the story to Mary Had a Little Lamb.
As I saw the station on Fulton across the street I pointed to it. A cab pulled to the side of the road and a man asks what I am pointing at. I say the subway station. He then asks if everything is OK. I say yes. "What was that about?" I ask, but I've seen Black.White. I know what it was about, the cab driver saw a black guy and, uh, a me talking at 1:30am in lower Manhattan and thought I was in trouble. I tell him I am going to head to the station and he says he is going to keep walking. I shake his hand and say, "Good luck."
I was wandering around lower Manhattan by myself at 1:30am last night because, well, I'm an idiot. I walked out of where I was and looked around. Pretty empty street, save for a black dude with a yellow shopping bag and a stocking cap. I head towards the Bowling Green subway station for the long, long ride home.
The man from the street walks into the station right before I do. When we get there, some transit workers let us know the station is closed. I head out of the subway station and look at my pocket map, attempting to decide which alternate route I'd like to take home.
The man sees me standing there, and comes up and asks me a question about the J train that I can't answer. He asks where I am heading and I say Washington Heights. I tell him I'm gonna head to a station at Fulton Street. He says he's heading that way, too. "Let's walk together," he says.
"What are you doing out so late?" I ask.
"Oh, I just got out of jail," he says. "I was just getting drunk with my friends." He tells me when he got out he went to Staten Island to get some clothes from his sister, but his sister threw all his stuff away. "Probably to make room for the next guy," he says.
It takes all my will power to not ask him what he did to go to prison.
He doesn't know how long he will be out, he says, but for now he is enjoying the sweet air. I breathe it in. It smells not unlike urine.
"This is the city that never sleeps," he says. "For as much to do there are layers of things you shouldn't be doing underneath." He looks up at a building and stops in the street. "TURN THE LIGHTS OFF!" He yells, as loud as he can, and the sound echoes. He tells me the lights are always on so planes don't fly into Manhattan buildings. Huh.
He asks what I am doing in the area and I tell him I picked up some night work. His eyes get wide. His woman bailed him out, see, but he only has sweats because his sister is a bitch. I ask him what kind of work he is looking for. "Anything, man," he says, "I am real sharp. Once it's in here I master it." He points at his head.
He points out the World Trade Center site. Tells me he was in a hospital in Brooklyn when a young Chinese doctor said "there's something freaky going on." Then he went to the window and saw the first plane hit. That's some interesting timing.
Then he said he hoped I wasn't secret service and going to arrest him right there, but he is sure that Bush knew about 9/11 and planned it as an excuse to go to war in Iraq and get revenge for his father. He then acted out the My Pet Goat fiasco, but swapped the story to Mary Had a Little Lamb.
As I saw the station on Fulton across the street I pointed to it. A cab pulled to the side of the road and a man asks what I am pointing at. I say the subway station. He then asks if everything is OK. I say yes. "What was that about?" I ask, but I've seen Black.White. I know what it was about, the cab driver saw a black guy and, uh, a me talking at 1:30am in lower Manhattan and thought I was in trouble. I tell him I am going to head to the station and he says he is going to keep walking. I shake his hand and say, "Good luck."
