Lunch-break in Manhattan

Hellish, primitive and all of this I observed at a glance. I’m not exactly sure what I observed but it was an allusion to something. I was sitting in the depths of Manhattan on the stone steps in-front of the IPod Store. In-front of me was grown men and women fighting each other hysterically, wearing nothing but over sized diapers. What were the implications of this?1

At first I thought I was imagining it but…when people started to draw blood it quickly became obvious that this was violent. I knew I had to leave, since I was the one who started the quarrel. I had been sitting there on those cement steps long before they came.2

When they arrived, fully clothed, I had already been seduced by an old Pushkin tale. Who is Pushkin? I am Pushkin, or at least everyone jokes about it. He was a half-African half-Russian author; he no longer is since he died in a duel. Pushkin was one of the first landmarks for the weird and peculiar. He wrote very simply, with no allusions, no delicate metaphors, and anything other complicated lingerie from the Victorian era –and everyone else was chalk full of that. This 'Puskhin' simplicity in the midst of extraordinarily-difficult-to-read novels impressed the entire subtle country of Russia –possibly a little too much did they love him since it was they who shot him. Who were they?3

They were actors filming a weird commercial or a short movie, they were an allusion to the constant few bad eggs of society that remind us that uniform normality is a concept that can never work –like waiting for Governor Sarah Palin to suggest something smart. They had asked me to take a snap shot of them with a few of their cameras this is where the problem began. When people are aware that their shit is broken, the days can run smoothly to expose another sexually frustrated day of irony. When people refuse to become aware that their shit is broken, then the day looks like a book after a flagon of rum. What is a flagon? Those old vases that Royalty used to drink wine from…It was also apparently that they brought a flagon or rum along to alleviate some of the embarrassment of their actions. They were in fact a little intoxicated. Nonetheless the alcohol didn’t excuse someone into breaking someone else’s inexcusably cheap disposable camera.4

And with that answer, society too had an answer for the weirdness inside itself –police. Four cars came simultaneously, at the response of some extra-diligent and over-responsible citizens –that is a metaphor for an asshole. As the bloody adults wearing nothing but dirty diapers and a drunken smile they were shoved into police cars. And that was the end of that, and of my lunch-break.