I hear it’s your birthday

 

March 11, 2012

 

It’s my daughter’s birthday, and I’m going to try to get out to see her shortly.

We live about 100 miles away from each other and see each other too little, although when we do see each other, we mirror each other because she is so much like me.

I want her to come east for a week so we can wander New York together since we both love that place.

She was born there when I was still on the run from the police, when the East Village was still a wild and crazy place full of drug dealers and junkies.

A black prostitute named Monet adopted me when my ex-wife was pregnant, looking out for us, and scolding me because of my drug habits and my habit of freaking out on LSD from time to time.

She once held up her own pusher to get me the drugs to come down. She eventually became godmother of my daughter – and I couldn’t think of anyone better.

New York is in my daughter’s blood and she comes back from time to time to renew her energy, and when we’re together, it seems that we go back in time and reflect something that we both left back there.

Going to Scranton just isn’t the same experience, especially around this time of year.