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Saturday I felt listless. It was thankfully a day full of sun, and I biked up through Manhattan. Agitation eased as I weaved around cars parked in the bike lane and I joined a mob of cyclists on Lafayette Street. But the old familiar knot retangled itself, and I had to get off the bike or risk taking stupider risks. Breathless sat in some fenced off grass at Washington Square Park, listening to a jazz trio busk. Sax and bass and a slimly outfitted drumkit. To my left a kid, maybe three or four, waddled up to a tree, dropped his drawers, and set loose a liquid string of pissy pearls. Disbelieving I stared at his mother and father, wondering if they’d notice and what they’d do. They did and did smirk, naught else. Boy fastened himself and returned. All left. At this point, my disquiet ripens, peels, splits open and sends out pungent spunk. I leave soon after them, take another bridge back into the borough, and bum tobacco from a woman with a bull ring: “Keep the 75 cents.” Saturday.

Yesterday was the 500th post at this blog. I guess that’s some sort of achievement. Numerically.

Categories: Asides.

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