"Mama take this badge from me. I can't bear it any more. That cold black cloud is comin' down - feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door."

Guns-n-Roses in our car, the Grateful Dead at the Meadowlands and the bar band in D.C. Everyone is singing Bob Dylan to us. We're leaving N.Y. right now. The skyline in the back windshield is ominous. We arrived in the city , parked, rapped with Joe the Oriental postman about what was shakin' in the city, bought quarts of beer and drank them on the steps by our beast because we had to wait until 6 for our car to be safe from towing where we'd parked. We also met Albert, a "car" driver, from Barbatos. Then, we skated through city streets to the World Trade Center twin towers and we paid a valuable $3 a piece to go to the top. At the top, we met Lenyl, who acts exactly like Lucille Ball and even looks a little like her, except Lenyl has blond hair. We told Lenyl we didn't have a place to stay, since I'd tried to call Patricia and couldn't get a hold of her. (She was on a plane coming back from San Diego.) Lenyl said she'd "take us around," and she did. First, our plan was to sneak into Cats on Broadway and asking for directions we picked up another girl. Marney, from Montreal, who was a casting director or something, but at any rate she was beautiful and dressed like a gypsy. She had to meet a friend though so we let her off. On Broadway, we parked across the street from St. Patrick's Cathedral and down the street from Radio City Music Hall. We walked down the street, Cats was over. We paid a street sax player $2 while Lenyl went to the bathroom in Hulahans. "Where's the bird?" I asked and the sax player laughed and said, "Well lemme see if I can shoot him down." And he did. Lenyl came out and we walked down Broadway a little further passing a man doing card tricks for money of which we had none to lose. We ducked into the first Live Nuck - Live sex acts shop we came to. Bought our tokens and went upstairs. Upstairs was a complete brothel of scantily clad oddly shaped women. My eye, of course, ever-searching for the black whore of my dreams, struck a six foot leapard skin wearin' on Eva, who strutted right up and led me by the hand to one of the booths. I had more than a fair buzz on from the dozens of tall beer recepticles we had consumed or else I don't think I would have done what was done, but I did and it has a terrific ring to it. Fucking a black whore on Broadway in New York City. After Broadway, we drove to Central Park to meet up with Bob the homosexual that Lenyl was staying with in Greenwich Village. Bob was the host at Tavern on the Green, basically across the street from Central Park. Lenyl took us to the exact spot where Hinckley shot John Lennon, it was as moving to stand in that stop as it was to walk the entire length of the Vietnam Memorial in D.C. - Don't forget D.C.- Then we walked into Cental Park, after midnight, against the advice of every sane and sensical American, and we met up with Jose and Jack, I think was his name and some other fellow, all smoking joints. We smoked joints and then walked onward. Zombies, alone, some with dogs, checkered the darkness. Drunk, stoned and stupid we proceeded to drive through New York to Bob's house. We arrived and Bob was upset. He tried to kick us out all right, bantering like a faggot can banter, while Larry pulled out the hide-a-bed and passed out. I placed cushions on the floor licked some chocalate chip ice cream off of Lenyl's stomach, curled up with her and fell asleep.