Oct. 20, 2011
The ends of my days are often much like the beginning of my days, the way I tend to remember them like dreams and then let go. Tuesday wasn't too eventful; I began the work-a-day shift reluctantly as ever. I bought the coat I had been saving for, finally, now that we are on winter's doorstep. I also scratched the itch I've had to duck into the dark mysterious building that stands at Houston and Lafayette, the doorway to Soho, the Hollister store. I have no particular allegiance to the brand, in fact, I don't think I even own any of their clothes besides a silly t-shirt I scored from a thrift store for a buck. When I entered the building, there was some sort of techno-christmas music on and before me was a dark corridor that opened up to a back room behind a set of flat glass slab staircases rising three stories high. I couldn't tell what level I was even on as I wandered around, surrounded by sweaters and jackets and repetitious patterns strewn on shelves that stretched around every wall, floor to ceiling around tables with piles of more folded clothes. I didn't mind all the clothes, it was like the world's most extensive walk in closet, but with questionable taste. I found a pair of sweatpants on sale and struggled to find a cashier to ring me up. I regarded the purchase as my admission to the fascinating building with its chandeliers pulled up on the top floor to hang in a manner where you could actually walk around them. Talk about elegance! The simplest things manage to amuse me. I find more interest in museums that don't boast themselves as museums. Even the sales people, mostly girls, gratuitously, were all dressed in outfits, uniforms almost. The girls wore those short plaid skirts that I'm crazy for (who wouldn't be?). I can't remember what the fellas wore. What else is one to do on a winter night in Manhattan? I'm not much for shopping, but I felt good about my new purchases. Especially the jacket, now that it had begun to drizzle. My old coat was balled up in my backpack with my new Hollister sweatpants. I hopped on my bike and rode downtown to see Jen. She's a really cute Asian girl, I presume Chinese. She works in the fashion industry as a PR. We hung out for a little while and flirted a bit, but we're just acquaintances. I asked her if she'd like to get together later this week, but she told me she couldn't in a way that I felt was more honest than a rejection. I didn't press the issue, or search desperately for a date, but left it to chance as cooly as I could and bid her goodnight. I rode up to the lower east side and had a drink with the boss. He goes on and on about my video resume. He loves it, shows it to everybody as an example of what he wants. I want to tell everybody to simply forget about everything but yourself for once (ha!) and go at the camera full force, immersed in your ego, pour it out and then let it go. I have no idea what he wants to do, but I did my part and that's that. I got on a train back home at one o'clock in the morning. I hadn't been tired, but I could feel that time soon approaching. The train went express to 59th street and then announced it would go local up to 145th street, my stop. Great. I got home to the apartment quiet as usual. Roy would probably be in Oklahoma by now. I took off my coat and put on my new sweatpants and made myself some green tea. Tomorrow would be another day. I haven't even checked the weather yet.