I was thinking the other day about when I used to lay on the grass in Tompkins Square Park and pretend like I was outside, like outside of the city. And I would look around before I lay down because I didn’t want to lie on a half eaten hamburger or dog crap or an old heroin needle.
And when I laid back I would look over and there would be all kinds of little bits of garbage mixed in with the grass. Like the grass was growing out of a city made of garbage. Like Coney Island, the beech is all covered in garbage, even the garbage goes to Coney Island for vacation. And I would look at that thin scraggly grass growing out of garbage and think how metaphorical it is in so many ways.
So I was thinking about when I used to do that and I wanted to go lay on the grass again so I walked over to the park but the gate was locked. So I just stood there leaning on the fence looking at the grass, trying not to look like I was looking at the grass. It’s hard to look at grass and not have people suspect you’re looking at the grass. It’s hard to stand around and do nothing and not look suspicious. Smokers have it good, they can just stand around and do nothing and it’s normal. Smokers really know the tricks.
So I started thinking I should get some cigarettes so I don’t look like some shady hood staring at the grass, but I didn’t really know where to get cigarettes. I had to think about it for a minute. I haven’t smoked in a few months. It’s not that I quit, I lost interest. I smoke sometimes just to remember what it’s like. My wife always thinks I’m thinking about things too hard when I smoke because I stand around and stare at things twice as much as normal.
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