Adrian scribbles on the coffee table every morning

It sounds like there’s thunder outside. It’s overcast, dark. Truck horns, probably fresh meat, produce or something down by the market. Empty bottles are being discarded, hundreds of them by the sound of it. Sometimes I hate this city.

I’m looking at my tree outside in the park. The dogs are pissing on it again, right now it’s one of those nasty little pugs or other compressed-faced dogs everyone’s calling “cute” right now. And the cute pug demon is destroying my tree (*fu*ker*), the last natural thing in this city. It’s just a matter of time before the gdamn thing falls to the ground. Or turns yellow by the leaves. It’s not right. Now the garbage trucks are competing for the alley. How can two garbage trucks compete for the same alley? Is there that much garbage in the city? Maybe there is. Plenty of garbage slinking through the streets on two legs in Chelsea every day.

But this is my city, and my city is beautiful. I know, forgiveness comes all too quickly. I’ve forgiven it even before I’m finished being angry.

It’s a shade brighter since I woke up. Not so much a migraine this morning. No trucks hit me in my sleep. Instead, one hit the side of my building (by mistake?) passing through the alley. It’s displaced a bit of garbage, something for the stray cats to eat. There’s a cold chill that’s coming in by the kitchen. It’s a galley kitchen – I love my galley kitchen.

Yesterday, I met this fine young fellow (possibly a cannibal by the way he was eyeing me) at the gym. Perhaps it’s not the way you look at someone that gets their attention in the end. He was beautiful. Looked Middle-Eastern. Deeply sunken eyes, chubby brows, full lips, black eyes and thick fingers. He looked a touch disturbed, but in a frantic sort of way. Said his name was Yassr. Great skin color. He just moved here. And he’s hungry. Said he’ll find a job and stay a while. They all say that in the beginning, before crying home. I knew a Yassr once – a friend of a friend of a friend. This was before we started destroying his family overseas, before the towers went down. Now, I can’t help but look at him in ways different from the past. It’s not describable or explainable, it simply is. It’s not negative or positive, but very real. And I hope, everyday, he won’t be the one to bring a bomb onto my bus.

Something has changed.

New-Yassr (that way I won’t confuse him with the friend of the friend of my friend) wants to meet at the gym today, same time as yesterday. I’m not too certain as to whether… I’m not sure if I want to meet him or not. I didn’t take his number (you never take their numbers, do you?): it’s easier that way. It’s like putting that great pair of jeans at the consignment store (the ones you really love but are just at the lip of your budget) on hold until “tomorrow.” If buyer’s remorse has set in before you go back, it surely wasn’t meant to be. If you’re still craving the shaggy piece of denim, then go for it. Christ, it’s just a pair of jeans. It’s not like it’s an Armenian baby or something. But one pair of jeans take up so much room in a tight closet.

Didn’t want the number. I figure, if I see him again today and he wants to grab a coffee or something, well I guess I’ll take it then.

But it’s a long day. Anything can happen between now and 7pm.

No spiders last night. In fact, no dreams at all. My head isn’t pounding (that’s good). But now I have this song stuck in my head. It’s caught me because it’s how I feel right now. Not the lyrics – the song, the sound is how I feel. I don’t even know what the name of the song is, someone down at Drink Me said it’s by the Gorillaz. I’ll have to find out today.

I can capture a soul or two in the meantime.