The boat circled below the island with the sun setting over the broken horizon, the clouds going after it, pulling each other together in the red and blue. 
There was a pool with bright blue chlorinated water like in Florida, so square and odd in the back of the boat, the river water gushing past. I sat in the corner looking at Crystal with her back to everyone, looking at the city, her elbows poking out, under the 59th Street Bridge and looking up at the dark mass, the dirt and cables, the shadows of the cars and trucks, and sank into how almost safe and eerie it was.
Lisa was in the pool and singing to Chumbawamba, delighted in herself, drinking shots, and laughing convulsively, doubling over and then trying to get out of the pool and throwing up and almost going over, and then crying, Ian holding her and then their mother, and it was sad and worse how separated I was from it and didn’t care. 
I watched the boat turning the corner, going into the Harlem River and seeing the city, the steep hill up into the Harlem, how green and wild it looked, and then the Bronx on the other side, flat dull and grey, highways and warehouses and nothing else and then Yankee Stadium, as dull and grey as everything else.
Tag Archives: New York City
Another “Bad Side” film
I have written the first draft of a second Bad Side script. It follows Dee on the train with Apollo north out of the city.
The train inches past the soot and cables, the decrepit buildings, twisted rust jutting out, bottles and shards, an animal skull on an electrical box, and then is on a bridge. DEE wraps her hand, stiff and fat, in a sweatshirt. The conductor approaches, his hat pushed forward; he is older with a thin face and empty eyes.
CONDUCTOR: Ticket?
DEE: I gave it to the other guy, the one before you.
CONDUCTOR (Looking at Dee’s cleavage): Where’s your receipt?
DEE: I must have thrown it away.
CONDUCTOR: Which is it? You threw it away or you gave it to the other guy?
DEE pulls her dress out from her legs. There is a stain on the waist. It looks like blood.
DEE: I didn’t think I needed it.
CONDUCTOR: Where are you going?
DEE: Providence.
CONDUCTOR: Got on at Penn? (He looks down the aisle and then back at DEE) I have to write you up,
DEE: What does that mean?
CONDUCTOR (Opening his ticket book): What’s your name?
DEE (Pulling a hoodie from her bag): Crystal Sinclair.
There is a long pause as CONDUCTOR writes out the slip and then hands it to DEE.
CONDUCTOR: You mail it back to the address at the bottom.
DEE: Mail it?
CONDUCTOR: The fine.
DEE: Can I get a water from you?
CONDUCTOR (Leaving): The cart will be through.
June Dialogue on the E Train
“And he was like, you’re such a dummy.” 
“Dummy? He said that?” 
“Yeah, you’re such a dummy. Get it?” 
“I can’t believe he said that.” 
“He was like, ‘Dummy’!” 
“Dummy?” 
“Exactly. Dummy.” “Dummy? You’re serious?” 
“Yeah, dummy! Get it?” “I would have kneed him in the balls.” 
“Dummy!” “It isn’t funny.” 
“Yes, it is.”
MTA’s Seven Years
You may have noticed, in riding the subways of New York, that the MTA has posted a clear warning in every car. 
Why so many reminders? Is it because of the incessant delays? The changing of an express to a local, a C to the F Track, without an announcement? Or is it perhaps the conductors’ proclivity toward closing the doors just as the other train arrives on the other side of the platform?
Whatever it is, seven years is a long time to wait.
My Twisted Obsession with Disasters
My obsession with disasters started at a young age when I blew up model airplanes and cars. It was never as satisfying as I expected and always ended with a mess to clean up. The films were better: The Poseidon Adventure, Towering Inferno and Earthquake, which had Sensurround Sound; I went to that twice. 
I have lost interest in these films for the most part – Twister, Armageddon, 2012 lack the original flare – but remain fascinated by massive destruction. 
I gap and ogle. I exchange messages and express my concern; it happens every time, Oklahoma, New Orleans and Japan. 
When Hurricane Sandy came to New York, I walked the dog to see the storm’s surge in Lower Manhattan. 
I must admit to a habit of walking away from a place – anywhere, a subway train or building – and then looking back, thinking it might explode, be engulfed in smoke and flame. It hasn’t happened yet, but I keep half expecting it. Is this a side effect to my disaster addiction? What is this dreadful fascination? Do I have a sense of doom, an obsession with the impending end? Or is it just boredom in the modern world?
Fulton Street Building Gone
There was a building at 140 Fulton Street. 
It was on fire. 
And now it’s gone. 
Demolition on Fulton Street
There was a fire on Fulton Street – on the other side of our block – on March 18. (Click on image for video.)
Demolition crews arrived two weeks later and have steadily reduced the building, story by story. (Click on image for video.)
It has been a fascinating procedure to witness – the meticulous and pounding aspects of such a reduction – almost like watching a fireplace. (Click on image for video.)
It is certainly an excellent distraction from writing.
Uptown
I love the express train. You never have to stop.
You’re in the noise, lights flashing past.
Subway Redux: Crystal on the “4”
Crystal reflects on the New York subways (Click on the images below for the video experience): You know when you’re on the subway, and there’s another one there, another train in the tunnel right beside you, another one full of people, the light of the car and all the people and the pillars in between, everyone watching. 
You know, at 33rd on the 4 or 5, and the 6 right there, everyone in that bright car, everyone going with you, going the same way, standing there in the light just like you are for them. Someone looks back. 
And you look the same way to her, and it’s like it will stay forever, those pillars, just standing there, staring back. That’s what New York can be. That’s what it’s supposed to be. (Excerpted from my bad side.)
Buzz at Grand Central Station, New York
I’ve made it. The doors open wide, begging, clean against the wall, red coat, and just like that, everything done, everything as it should, turning and my hand cool. 
She knows me. And that’s it, why for her, she forever, our silent descent, breathing, the glass reflecting us together, backward as forward, not words, but what they might, meaning nothing, tucked into our heads upside down, she out the hall, mine, everything mine, not that, but in me, here, me young, friendly, not wanting to stop, never. My eyes are inside my head. I’m going as I should, thinking as I do anything, on this sidewalk, fading, a door closing, in a room, music, and out.* (Click on the photo and links for video clips.) *Excerpt from Buzz (1999)