"i dont mind you coming here.. and wasting all my time. . .
talking in your sleep.. . i think youre just what i needed . ."
girl left at noon. im free to watch hbo in my underwear. instead, i walk down the street to my favorite bar.

--

girl with the thick arms and east african features flexes her arm, pressing the meat of her arm into the backrest of her chair, spreading the muscle, spreading the standard india ink tattoo - pulliong on a cigarette. wait -- shes the bouncer tonight? but who the fuck could she intimidate - who would she keep in line, what self respecting thug would stand down to-

oh.
ladies, im surrounded by ladies.
oh, and -theeese ladies- im surrounded by lesbians.. and the beefy Ms. Somalia 1997 is here to keep them in check.
here i am for lesbian night at my favorite local bar, all cock and balls. last one of these i went to wasa fundraiser for some girl to have her breasts removed
curly, greasy, hip haircuts; no make-up and all slouches - new lesbians, in uniform.

its cindi lauper then cat power covering oasis and then morrisey and the new pj harvey on the turntables
"...so i pull out the only condom in my bag, the one thats been in there for like 5 years and i give it to him.." shes says pointing to her one lispy male friend with the painfully tight shirt and the affected hairdo "and andrew and his boyfriend took care of the rest. that was the last condom i ever had".
andrew smiles coyly at his fellow homosexuals. gay guys and lesbians getting along perfectly. gotta love the east village.

wait wait -
i recognize this beat.

"shake it, shake, shake -shake it, shake, shakeshake it like a polaroid picture.. "
but - this isnt outcast..
it sounds like le tigre.. or maybe a .
oh my god, its lesbians covering "hey ya!" with guitars.

a fat little butchie starts jumping around.

i pack up for a new bar.

--

im fumbling around the east side for food. smell of urine and fish, dead air, puddles - the beginnings of Chinatown.
its hard to resist the 8.00 a plate bargains around here (duck soups, XO sauce noodle, Hong Kong jellyfish salad) and , but i want to end the day within my budget. this leaves me almost 3 dollars, which im pretty sure means i am going to the 20 cent a dumpling dumpling joint.

great aunt of Girl-From-Work lives around here somewhere. Im sure shes acting all old and Chinese right now, and i shouldnt disturb her while shes concentrating on breathing and sitting up and staring at the wall- but I could really go for some Old Chinese Woman cookin' right now. but.

--

"you whan wha?"
i point my finger towards #3 on the greasy laminated menu that sits on the linoleam counter that seperates the woks and toiling skinny Chinese cooks from the throngs of broke assholes like me.

"I WANT 2 ORDER PORK STEAM DUMPLING PLEASE"
i am now holding the Rosetta Stone/menu printed in Chinese and English in his face.
the cook stares at me , exhausted.
"2 ORDER! THANKYOU"
grammar changes among the Chinese.

the place is tiny, the place is dirty. to emphasize the total fucking brokeassness of the clientele, an older black man walks in, presumably from some apartment above, with a large aluminium foil wad shaped like a tub, filled with half frozen chicken wings.

"Just gonna be a second!" he announces. He pauses and looks around. I wonder what he means.
"No problem.." he says, and then grabs the soy and chili sauce condiments off of the main table and starts pouring them into his makeshift tub.

"just makin some wings, no problem."

my cook shakes his head and looks at me.

"you whan wha?"