Lyndhurst

I came across this piece from 2003 today, written after I left the city for what would end up being a year, or nine…

I left New York City. It was the day after a spider-legged woman stepped out of a stretch limousine, nearly tripped over a homeless man, and entered into an exhibit in SOHO to decide what starving painter she would feed with her dead husband’s money. The owners of the studio seemed so pleased with the turn out.

He met me at the airport with bare feet and a chunk of rose quartz. I was bleary eyed from a 24 hour flight, six courses of airplane food, and five years of narcotics. He brought me to a small room in a share house with a simple wooden desk and a frame-less mattress. I slept for nine months.

When I awoke he said the eclipse was in four days and that it was a three day drive to Lyndhurst. As he chauffeured me further away than I had ever thought possible, I didn’t blink.

At 2am we pulled over. Imagine. Leaving a sea of 10 million. On the side of the road. Billions of stars. One true existence.

We arrived 67 hours later where the road faded into the desert’s consumption. There’s a sign that reads WARNING: REMOTE AREAS AHEAD. IF YOU INTEND TO TRAVEL FURTHER, LET SOMEONE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE.

If only someone could have erected a sign like this back on Fifth Avenue. Maybe then my friend wouldn’t have been left alone on the pavement.