Dead ringer for him too. Poor son of a bitch. I'm spending more time wondering what I would do if something good happened, you know, all lightening in a bottle like and shit. Good things used to happen to me suddenly. Used to happen quite frequently. Good things must be taking the long way around me these days. Good stuff looks before coming down the street -- to avoid running into me.

So, here I am walking down the street, whistling the blues to the tappin' of my feet. Think I've scared the good things away. I could say that this is depression -- I'm sure it is. I'm depressed, it's cold, no friends around and my finger's all fucked up. I'd worry more about my finger, but there are too many other things to think about. What things are fun to think about? Okay, okay...what's interesting to think about? Fewer things interest me now. I'm probably less interesting because fewer things interest me. Politics used to get me going. Used to make me mad as hell, used to fascinate me too. Now, as long as Barrack Obama runs in the next election...

Here's the newstand where the guy charges you a quarter for a pack of matches...if you don't buy cigarettes. A while back I was buying a pack, when another guy came up and asked for a pack of matches. He was buying a coke and a newspaper.

The newstand owner is an arab. "A quarter for matches," he told the guy. "What?" "A quarter for matches." The guy got really pissed off. "Look, I was born in this city, you fuck," the words shot out of him. "We're supposed to be ripping you off you fuckin' prick." Now, that...to me, was funny. Interesting too. Nothing like a little street theater to liven up a worthless day.

There's so many foreign run restaurants, newstands,,,well, everything now, and they've all come to think that ripping people off is the true 'American way.' Wonder who taught em' that? I don't really give a shit who taught em'...I know it wasn't me. The guy left. The Arab gave me a pack of matches with the cigarettes I bought, but I asked him for a another. He must have seen me smiling when the guy got pissed at him. He didn't ask me for a quarter, he just said "No." Seven-fifty for a pack of cigs and one pack of matches.

The guy was right, he was a fuckin' prick. I bought a hotdog from my favorite hotdog people. A little mustard and relish and a coke...a dollar-fifty. Good people. Nice couple. Out there every day on the corner of East fourth and Broadway, rain or shine, hot or cold. Always a line, but they keep it moving without being rude or making you feel like you're just a few bucks to them. They're Russian. They should open a fuckin' newstand. Two packs of matches for nothing -- a third for a dime. Yeah, that would be fair. That's what they'd do if they owned a newsstand. Cigarettes wouldn't cost more than seven bucks either, not at their store. So winter is definitely here. The streets are cold now. Every block still has its yellers (crazy people who talk and yell into the air).

Saxophone players on every corner -- vanish when winter comes. Must be something about sax players and cold weather, with their fingers and all. The people on the streets are out of touch with each other, they don't even know that other folks are walking by them Cell phones glued to their heads...and between calls it's an ipod. No such thing as being out of touch anymore...except on the streets and subways, buses and stores. No one's in touch with what's going on around them, but they never stop checking up on everything everywhere but where they are at the moment.
 

The only way to get anyone's attention on the streets these days, is to run into them or steal their cell. Mug them too, yeah, mug them, you might as well. The moment you take their cell they'll be completely disoriented...lost and confused. So, you might as well take their wallets too. Outside of "Give me your cell phone," and then, "Give me your wallet"...don't bother saying anything else.

They can't respond unless you're glued to their head. It's gotten so "The Freaks' are the few folks on the streets who are not talking on cell phones...who are not busy being somewhere else when they're where they are. I saw a person on his cell phone yesterday -- in front of NYU. Another person actually yelled "hi" to him as he was walking by the other way.

The other guy had a cell too. He raised one hand in a waving gesture while the other held his cell to his head. Then, pointing to his phone, he yelled to the guy..."Call me." They kept walking in opposite directions, but they'll talk in depth, I'm sure, when they're not in the same place, after they've pushed a little distance between themselves.

Down in Washington Square Park I was listening to a folksinger wearing rollerblades, playing an acoustic guitar like Dave Van Ronk. He was listening to an ipod while he played. That's where folk music went, man -- that's an ending if I ever saw one. You'll have to believe me when I tell you...I know endings. I invented them. I listen to them when I dream. I light them on fire to destroy the evidence. Endings give each other blowjobs. They have nothing to do with what actually happened -- nothing at all.

Randy Burns