Boulevard of Solid Dreams
My count thus far lists four hometowns inhabited then disowned. Today I revisited the most recent—the one that could just as easily resurrect itself as a future comfort zone. Manhattan. I still have many ties and loose ends there, and made the trip up this morning to get my stix Rx. On the train ride up, I immersed myself into Jonathan Lethem’s latest book, Chronic City. So far, the Chronic part seems to refer to reefer. The City part seems to refer to the Upper East Side—a zone I rarely frequent due to the continuing lack of the 2 line, the long-planned, never realized east side subway. It felt good to be home, though. Natural. Like a human on pavement. I kept the trip quick. I was in Washington Square Park by 9:30, out by 10 and in Penn Station by 10:30. I think I subconsciously made it a morning trip to avoid the temptations that grow as the sun rises, sets, and the lights come on. No trouble today. Yet.
3 comments:
What's a stix Rx?
It’s American for Xanax. Stix is pronounced “stix”, but is understood on the street as Zan’-icks. There is a whole study of linguistics behind this semi-progression of language, but it just got replaced with a Scotch Bright Cook Top Cleaner commercial.
My doc has an office on Washington Sq. West. His name is not David Lee Roth.
On the serious question: Yes, I’ve noticed that in my disposition at times. Times I’m sure you may have even been remotely privy to, as was another party who may or may not have had red hair, nice tits, and a surprisingly hungry ass and an office across the hall from you a few years back who experienced the same reaction.
You may not be wired for chemical alteration. Consider it a blessing. You don’t have to surf for an ideal notion. You’re just straight up mellow with a blip every now and then. For most people I know, it’s the opposite. You have good friends, a beautiful wife and child, and a good job. Imagine having zero of those.
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