It's Warm Enough to Write

I wanted to sit here and write a story of sitting here, at Washington Square Park.

But it's been too cold. It's barely warm enough for me to do this.

I have to wait 25 minutes to start my radio show.

There is something I want to mention, and I will momentarily. It's important that I wait before I mention the one thing about this place I don't like besides the boys. 

And unlike them there is nothing I can do about this other reality.

Part of it involves contraception. And other methods of preventing the worst thing in the world next to being airdropped into a volcano.

The other part involves the wise knowing how much I don't enjoy the company of children. As much as hearing fingernails on a chalkboard do I like hearing...

Ah. They left. The parents of the fucking toddler that was a foot from crawling on me. 

How do you get ten dead babies out of a trashcan? Pitchfork.

How do you paint a wall? Throw dead babies against it.

HOW CAN ANYONE BE SO STUPID AS TO HAVE CHILDREN? There's no good reason.

I have fifteen minutes till airtime. Next a boy/man/male is gonna come talk to me. Also not what I want. 

Is this skate park ever unskated? 

I helped two French girls of retirement age find Macy's last night. They stopped me near my hotel. I couldn't understand them saying "Macy's" or the letters. So she typed it into my phone.

The most fun was when they asked somehow "how far" and I said "un, deux, trois!" as I counted blocks on the map.

Which was cool from two directions: French is beautiful and I remembered "The Count of Monte Cristo" as he's being thrown off the cliff to freedom.

It's Valentine's Day, and what I want to happen is a date for tonight.

I considered having a sign printed.

My hands are getting cold. Gotta bail.

-Alex