I stepped through the revolving doors, past the eastern European tourists in Ugg boots, and stood in the middle of the sidewalk. I situated myself behind a young couple -girl and boy- taking a photograph of themselves in front of the world's largest Macy's. T-FUDGE appeared then, ten feet in front of me, moving diagonally through the crosswalk densely grey with afternoon shoppers. I watched T-FUDGE scan the crowd, like a lost cat, trying blindly to pick up the scent of a lost hot cat piss trail. I walk towards her as if to shoulder her in the face.
My iphone dies.
T-FUDGE and I walk down Broadway to the Korean food court on 33rd street. We leave there and walk to the Ace Hotel on 28th and Broadway. T-FUDGE walks up a set of marble stairs and down the other side just to be on the other side of the lobby. Our path crosses a woman with a similar intent. A over size American flag, as if taken from the Miley Cyrus music video Party in the U.S.A., is hung above the bar. There is a brown animal-looking fur skin draped on a couch- it could be teddy bear. I could have also cradled the butts of countless wealthy celebrities. There is a pair of stuffed badgers in a glass case that faces a long black table. The table is cut down the center by a row of antique reading lamps, identical. Their shape and design is suggestive of municipal use. The light is more than dim. Everyone seated there is illuminated more brightly by the soft chrome glow of their personal computing devices.
Opening Ceremony at the Ace Hotel: we squat on the floor -as if we were preparing to defecate in a Japanese toilet- reading fashion editorials. Dazed and Confused was admired for its particularly aesthetically pleasing spreads. We touch everything, move every coat hanger in the store, unzip and open every wallet and bag, and then leave.
D-PANTS is at the MoMa. We're late, we don't care, we want to see Times Square. We leave the Ace Hotel and walk past all the wholesale jewelery and bead stores. People are jam packed trying to see the Broadway musical, Annie, on a Friday night. Five lucky people on the Bank of America red ticket steps get their faces superimposed on cartoon images of the statue of liberty on a 10ft by 20ft LED screen facing southwards. We walk to MoMa.
Waiting in the museum lobby we are gestured at to leave the closing museum. A girl passes wearing a light blue fur hat with ear flaps. I have to use the bathroom now- #2 @hiltonavenueoftheamericas. D-PANTS and T-FUDGE are preparing to be coolly be ejected from the Hilton- being that my approach in their periphery vision appears like the gait and uniform of a Hilton employee who's sole job is to eject bums and lumpens from the Hotel lobby. Bums and lumpens who are waiting on a friend in the toilet to make an efficient but overly caffeinated deposit into the municipal waste disposal infrastructure of midtown Manhattan via the Hilton on 6th Ave.
A dinner at a Japanese restaurant ensued.
In Bushwick on the rooftop of D-PANTS' studio building we looked at a graffiti painting of a cat that looked liked it had blood in its mouth. D-PANTS played with fire, and somewhere in the distance Kelly Clarkson songs were being played. D-PANTS needs an instagram.
at Myrtle Willoughby TEDRTLE, T-FUDGE and I watched the first ten minutes of Boogie Nights. T-FUDGE and I drank sprite and whiskey and ate cheezits. I looked at pictures of T-FUDGE's B-Day party at her place of employment, one of the pix featured a cosmopolitan cocktail in the foreground, garnished with a hear-shaped piece of watermelon, beside a white stage set and white spiral staircase set against black in the background. T-FUDGE falls asleep.
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