Time flies faster downtown, and it slows in midtown, in the Herald Square Madison Square Garden area. Where yesterday was blue skies and sunny back downtown, it’s gray, gray, gray. It was cold at lunch time 50° in May and that was no fun.

I went to the Farmers market and bought some chocolate cake bread, one for m,e one for Bill, one for Mike. Whether or not it lasts is not up to me, although it might be. I am basically burnt out on the day’s work, the agency that placed me here has me doing these endless training things, plus I have to pick out some benefits and I was overwhelmed and basically toast after a couple of hours of that and that affected my job and the office that I work in.

But it wasn’t that busy, and I still got things done, but now I am coasting for another 21 minutes. It is cold and damp out, and it is only Wednesday, though it feels like Thursday, and I keep fooling myself each time I think about it.

Bill is in Westchester County, driving students around to run around on the field in the rain and the damp. I had done that 45 years ago, and I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. 18 minutes as the clock crawls. I stretch, I growl, and they’re not around as to be off-putting, I don’t know. I work with guys mainly, and they don’t say anything.

I looked up some former co-workers at Bratty McGrotty on BlinkedIn. Daisy is more than likely out of the picture, perhaps she’s landing in the territory known as a Sheree Draft land. It wouldn’t make sense that I don’t blame her any other way.

I’ve been playing the Grace Jones playlist for the past hour or two, and I’ve been enjoying it and like I said, I work with guys that don’t say much, so if they got something to say, they ain’t saying it to me.

Mike is coming over this weekend, so that could be fun. We have tons of plans to take photographs and smoke cigars. Anything else is off the menu but can be ordered with proper notice. I’m a man eating machine, says Grace Jones and I do not have the cojones to argue.

I’m not sure if I mentioned I am reading Robyn Hitchcock’s 1967 memoir. It’s enjoyable and an influence, no doubt. I’m halfway through with it, almost done with it. Beresford Marcus has just left the building, so that the atmosphere somewhere somewhat lightened. He’s an amenable type, hard to read sometimes…Sometimes I try to engage, but most of the time I stand aside.

Now Calvin Broadus is talking on a speaker loudly right above my head. I can’t say I was much of a fan of Calvin’s but when I saw him hanging out with L’Orange Merde, any respect I might have had for him diminished quite a bit.

I’ve got 6 minutes to get through and I’m sure I can the guys who set up the sound of walked away leaving me with the sound of nothing which just happened. I’m somewhat grateful.

We prayed upon the appraised prey at the parade about being praised