So I've been awake for about 29 hours straight now. I've been studying the nature of consciousness (way more infuriating than it sounds) and writing papers about Mississippi for the past too long, with not enough beer in between (but some). Stuffing myself full of cold free DeMarco's sausage and pepper. "Nah, man, the crust is no good tonight. Order from Joe's." Flappin' wannabes. Everybody wants to be Dominic. So I finally rode back out to Brooklyn after spending the night in the sub-basement of an anti-semite oogling a girl with the clearest pale skin I've ever seen and face bones like a threadless stem and lips the color of overripe persimmons. A patch of broken glass along chrystie street. was sure I had a flat, but it was all paranoia. Someone should tell the pedestrians that the view is better on the PEDESTRIAN side of the bridge. You'd think they'd want to avoid asspoops like us. I stopped in at a beer distributor on Pacific and I asked the jolly old Italian behind the bulletproof glass "you got any 12-packs under 10 bucks?" He thought about this for a bit. Punched some buttons on a calculator. "yuengling. $10.34." "deal!" i yelled. he laughed. "hey yo!" he called. "get me a 12 of yuengling." a big ole black man in tims came out of the back. I followed him to the pallets of beer stacked on cement floors. The yuengling was in the back. He began climbing, doublehigh stacked cases of magic had, whole pallet loads of stella. He fished out a 12 from the top of the heap and clomped down. he handed it to me. "how'd you discover you could do that?" i asked. "what?" he said. i repeated myself. "i saw someone else do it." naturally. i jammed the whole thing in my back and rode over to 5th and 1. riding down Union got showed up by a snazzylooking track bike, blue and silver, sped past me and hipskid to a stop, veered onto Smith. whatta showoff. i've been awake for 26 hours screw you. knocked on sam's door. we dranks some beers as he screenprinted a plate from a lamppost. drank some more beers, listened to some mississippi brown hat fred mud on vinyl. drank some more beers, talked about our plans for biking from instanbul to berlin this summer. oh god i hope so. sam called the car service for laguardia, we smoked what he couldn't fit in his secret stashing apparatus. his roommate bought him a model 10 speed in chinatown for christmas, working drivetrain and brakes and kickstand the whole bit, painted it white and stenciled decals just like his peugeot. what a brilliant gift. the car came, i said goodbye, maybe i'll see you in instanbul, climbed on my bike, rode down 5th to 13th, turned right, began thinking about that dude on union, why not just roll as fast as i can, i can always skid to a the bottom of the hill, what am i a sissy, crank crank crank fast fast fast light changes across 4th, hard left turn southbound, should be slowing down, no idea what's up ahead, stop accelerating at least, apply a little backpressure, you stupid macho piece of crap, what are you trying to prove, come face to rump with a whole block of backed up traffic holy booger i'm going to fast skip! okay that's something now skid! whoops what's that i feel.... loose where's my control my left pedal is spinning without my foot what's happened did i break my chain no i can still resist with my right pedal slow down slow down veer into the left turn lane two less cars worth of backed up crisis averted for now broken toestrap going fwap fwap fwap veer west against traffic down 14th onto the sidewalk onto the sidewalk yes slow slow hill slow okay control right left back on the pedal resist slow control right here dismount stop done.
whew. at least my roommate left me a couple hunks of toblerone. this could have been much worse. thank you, i haven't slept in 29 hours eaten in 17 or been sober since 3 pm. ready set drink. i can't hear you. drink! that's it. and cue awesome country music and sleep.