Late night, just got back from my cousin Jack’s wake. It was the end of a long depressing day. Woke up feeling ok, but as reality set in and the hours creeping by in 95 degree weather the wake was weighing heavily on my mind. It didn’t help matters that Tom Chin was difficult to deal with today, and the book keeper was a bit of an asshole herself today. Work that I had done, improved upon actually was rejected. Their methods were falling apart, corrupted Excel cells. I got a new, different template, easier to read and follow and submitted it. They sniffed and stated they preferred the older crap one. I had no say in the matter obviously and had to redo the things I had done.

Fine it helped kill some time that wasn’t being killed so easily. Time put up quite a struggle. I looked at the schedules for trains going up to Yonkers and had a choice between the 4 train on the subway to the very last stop, or Metro North, which is a little bit more money, but more comfortable. I opted for Metro North. I got out of work around 5:00, the train I needed was at 6:20. I walked over to see if Billie was still at work, but he had left already so I sat in front of JP Morgan Chase and smoked a cigar to pass the time. Not moving much and trying to catch any breeze that would waft past in my direction.

I bought a ticket from a machine and walked down to Track 107 and sat on a train that was bright and air conditioned. I felt like an outsider, like these people who regularly commute could tell that I was not one of them. I sat down and read an article that I copied from the Vanity Fair website about Sly Stone and how he may yet be making a comeback, and he might actually show up. After that I continued reading Uncut Magazine with Bob Dylan on the cover. An aging hipster sat across from me and asked if I could show him the cover. He seemed interested and we talked about Dylan for a few minutes. Soon enough was my stop at Mount Vernon West. Not knowing which way to go I followed the herd to the street.

Looked for a taxi to take me to the funeral home and all I could find was some drunk with a handful of mini liquor bottles arguing with a cab driver who claimed he owned the street and drove off, not picking up the drunk or me. Another cab pulled up and two people got in as the driver got out. They sat there for a few minutes while I called the phone number on the side of the taxi. A cab arrived soon thereafter and I was dropped off in the parking lot, looking for seven dollars since the driver could not break a twenty.

Jack was quite a popular guy in his life. Many people came for the first viewing, the line went out the door into the parking lot. I saw two of Jackie’s sisters, Maureen and Barbara after not seeing them for about thirty years. Maureen looks like her mother Molly, Barbara looks like her father, John. The other sister, Ellen was too sick to make it up to Yonkers from Florida, she’s not doing too well. I met up with brother Brian and his brother in law John. I got choked up when I met Jack’s widow Corinne and Kerry their daughter. They seemed to be doing better than me. Hugs and kisses and me telling them what a great guy Jackie was, as if they didn’t know that already.

John was kind enough to drive me back to Hoboken in his Hummer, Brian called shotgun so I sat in the back. It sure beat taking the train back to Manhattan then a bus back to Hoboken. I would probably be just getting on the bus right now if it wasn’t for John’s kindness. I want to email him a copy of the Joe Strummer documentary, Let’s Rock Again as a way of saying thanks.