Easy Boulevard

The drill was the same, plugging into You Tube, putting on headphones, formatting Text Edit, setting the caps— American Typewriter, large print. 

A good story got 200 hits at Busted on Empty, a bad story got 50. 

Warming up —Henry, sit ups and recitations, nothing much mixed with blah, blah, blah.

Henry waxing bullshit for hours in his head, writing it down, walking out the door of his Village apartment for some air.

Lighting up, taking a deep hit, feeling the night air, then just feeling— in his stride on Easy Boulevard. 

Chaim’s Place for a bowl of borscht with sour cream and horseradish. Chaim’s full of stoners, it was in and out, hit and run for the employed and the religious. 

Easy Boulevard a place for nobody really, a dead end for losers and a temporary destination for those just passing through—  everything written down in the blind man words. 

Henry at 58th and Easy Boulevard— feeling something coming on, a storm—knocked down dead in his tracks, on his hands and knees— cocooned in white and blue light— Tabula Rosa, Hare Krishna, OM!

Henry eyes wide open, down on the sidewalk, a loaded camp follower squatting beside him peeing, she letting loose with a cascade of golden sprinkle. 

Henry the happiest man in the world—

Tabula Rosa, Hare Krishna……OM!

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