Asshole Sniffing Dogs

Monday is another day.

I work, just like the rest of the world, and wrestle with problems. I get up early and skip my Meds. I make it to the city and drop off my prescription. I move fluidly though the morning and into evening. For lunch I snag two bags of Jalapeno potato chips and a beer. For breakfast, a cup of coffee.

I head to Duane Reade, dropping off my prescription in the morning and go back in the evening to pick it up. When I get to the counter I am told that it's not there. Great. I am not in the database. No that can't be right. I come here all the time to get my prescriptions filled. Well, they find the problem. They have me down as my first name, the prescription slip has my second name. That's the confusion. The pharmacist goes in the back to do a speed fill. Then comes out a minute later. Your Medicaid has rejected your prescription. They say that you had it filled four days ago. I think about it, and it dawns on me that the Shelter has no doubt finally filled the prescription. If they did, what was up with the nurses stating that I don't have any more? I'll have to follow up on these liars. I thank the pharmacist and head out.

I end the workday and head to the Nightingale Lounge. It is closed so I just stand in front of the building eating two chicken kabobs and listening to Death Cab For Cutie on my headsets.

I watch New York, the women walking by, the people generally going about their business. Across the street two people are walking dogs in different directions. The dogs stop, and do what dogs do, sniff each others asseholes. The people stop too. They don't talk to each other. One is even on a cell phone. They are busy in their own worlds until the dogs no longer find each other's assholes interesting and walk off. So do their owners. Now I ask myself. What the fuck was that about? I've seen it done a lot of times. Owners stopping for the predilections of their dogs. I wonder what would happen if the two dogs locked in a session of fucking. Would the owners still stand there staring, talking on their cells, bullshit their time away as their animals humped? It's an interesting view. I've never seen it done, but I wonder what would happen if it did.

Presently, I just get fucking tired of standing in front of the Nightingale and head to a nearby park where I sit down and count my cash from today's labors, and suddenly my brother walks up and takes a seat next to me. He too had come to find the Nightingale closed and headed to the park to kill time. We bullshit.

Then, after a time, we head back to find the lounge open. We go in to find Evil Theresa. My brother loves her and she loves him, but to me she's all but lukewarm. Unlike Sawn, who is a lovable bartender. Theresa's major problem is that she's the owner, and if you aren't spending a load of money on drinks she has little to do or care about you. And I was a penniless homeless person there for years. So she's accustomed to seeing my brother and I not paying for anything. But she's still cold to me alone.

Fuck her. I think I"ll live to see tomorrow without her love. Maybe now that I'm buying drinks she'll grow to be civil with me. I wonder anew. Is she this way with the rest of the poets??? I wait to see David Elsasser read. He is good and tonight he's the feature. The majority of the Gang of Five reads, D2theL, Tommy F, my brother, myself...although he was there, DJ Bensonhurst declined to read.

David does a good job, but I could not stay to see him finish. It was time to leave to make curfew. I blast, catching the number 15 bus downtown. There was no way that I was going to walk tonight and aggravate that fucking bunion. From Houston, I walk across town to the Box and rush upstairs to get my evening Meds.

They are turning out the fucking lights again, but they've seemed to ease up on the turning out of the laptops, CD players and walkmen. I'm glad, so that I can blog until late in the evening and get things done. I need to be on my laptop sometime during the week and Mondays are the worst days because I spend much of it working.

I recline across my bed, my fingers flying over the keyboard. I will blog this entry into the night, then post an older one.

And then I'll call it a night.

Hobobob