It’s a Saturday. Saturday the 13th and there’s a full moon but it’s currently raining and it can’t be seen. Perhaps it can be felt but I wouldn’t know. Not feeling it you see. I didn’t sleep too well last night, went to bed before Bill which I rarely do and was on the threshold of sleep but never actually entered despite some melatonin.
Finally Bill made it to bed and of course he went right to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. Then I got a Charley Horse which definitely kept me awake, forcing me to get out of bed and walk it off. I went online and posted as my Facebook status, Stupid Insomnia. Perhaps you saw it.
Eventually I did fall asleep but I wouldn’t call it a deep sleep and before you know it, it was time to go to work. I was waiting for the bus and got on, riding the bus into Manhattan just staring out the window. Since it was a Saturday and the trains couldn’t be trusted so I walked up the avenue, getting myself an egg sandwich on the way as well as an iced coffee.
I had plenty of time to sit and enjoy it as I was about a half hour early. It was Bradley and Jerry Vale and it was not as bad as I thought it might be. Jerry Vale and I actually bonded the other night exchanging stories about aspects of our respective sordid pasts. And Bradley was funny and somewhat gracious enough to let me play my iPod most of the workday.
As bad as my sales were yesterday I more than made up for it today, eclipsing both Bradley and Jerry Vale in sales when I sold a travel humidor which pushed me into four figures. At lunch after I chatted with Annemarie on the phone, I sat on a bench near the park and read the latest New Yorker, reading about Michelle Bachmann and the nut job she seems to be, while enjoying a nice cigar.
It was a nice afternoon, a warm breeze wafting by as I sat and enjoyed my cigar. Back at the shack it was quite mellow and I was pretty mellow as well. Some regular customers came in and sat in the man cave smoking. Since Bradley helped me out with the humidor sale I thought I would get him a donut when I was getting myself another iced coffee but he’s trying to get in shape, since you never know when one would have to punch a wall again.
Soon Bradley left, leaving Jerry Vale and myself to run the cigar shack and before we knew it, it was time for Jerry Vale to go and for me to close the shop which I did. Everything seemed to be ship shape so I headed down to the subway and took the first train that pulled in, which dropped me off near the Path train.
I waited for only a few minutes before I was able to get a seat and read about Neanderthal genomes in the New Yorker.
I also heard from my ex-roommate Kevin who told me he heard that an old friend of ours, Patrick Morrissey had died. I hadn’t seen Patrick in a number of years since he moved from Hoboken in the late 1990’s and I certainly hope it’s not true.
The only thing I could think of doing was send a message to Steve Fallon and ask him. I hadn’t heard anything from Steve yet so I remain hopeful. Patrick was one of the reasons I moved to Hoboken.
One of the first times I was in Hoboken I was driving down Washington Street and saw this somewhat flamboyant figure walking down the sidewalk. What got me was the fact that no one was bothering him. I thought that if such a plumed bird can stroll unmolested down the street then Hoboken must be the place for me. Patrick wound up being a downstairs neighbor when I moved into 201 Madison Street, and a good friend.
