Thin line

Once again, as it occurs every few years or so, I am living on the razor’s edge. I think a time tumbler might have clicked while in reflective thought on the beach last week. With the subtle utterance of a chiming gong I am gone from the present tense. I have broken my routine and am in danger of slashing ties with those I work for and with. I am dating dancers again. I own SoHo. My main priority is to be a party organizer and I seem to do it well. Girls on 34th street (eww) recognize me. They cream when dudes scream ROCK STAR at me at I whip past them at an accelerated pace toward places with faces who are in town for the week. It’s getting ugly. Three hours of sleep a day is no way to sludge through a night life. Man overboard. This ship is gonna take a dive.