Today’s soundtrack: who’s sorry now
Today at 11:02pm: Trying to decipher the confusing letters my bank has started sending me.

Up early, stumble into kitchen. Cut pineapple into cubes, sleepy but careful not to cut fingers. Stuff cubes in mouth.
Ice coffee at the diner, g’morning Jenny, take it easy Mohammed. Smoke on sidewalk. Metrocard, 6-train rumbles, air-conditioned seat.
Human riptide, Lexington Avenue. Suits, elevators.

Nine turns to five.


Loosen tie, hit street. Train downtown, grab Hapkido uniform.
Dojang doorway, bow to Sabumnim. Mats, stretching, push-ups, sweat. Shower, clean clothes.
Cell phone, incoming: “Join us at Japas.”

Cell phone, outgoing. “This is #47, silver Volkswagen, can I pick it up.”
6th Avenue uptown-bound traffic, too many SUVs. Brake, gas and weave. 43rd Street, parking meter, quarters.
Japas: Karaoke room, boyfriends and girlfriends. Guy next door singing Billy Joel. I heard Billy Joel’s gone crazy.
5th Avenue downtown-bound traffic, too many taxis. Young lovers not paying attention in crosswalk at 8th Street, slam on brakes beeflessly.
Dark apartment, leftovers, Newsweek. Laundry, e-mail. IM from Vietnam, incoming: “Dude you gotta come visit me.” IM, outgoing: “Love to, no cash now.”
Cigarettes and reclining to Patsy Cline. “Blue,” “Crazy.” Sing, Patsy, sing. Sing ‘til tomorrow. Bring me Thursday, for fuck’s sake.