Separate dreams where I fought with Bill, Bob Huff, Rand, and my brother Brian. Not violent dreams but I found all four of them to be most uncooperative in four individual scenes of dreams.

Rolling through the Christopher Street path station I always hope to see a ghost from over 30 years ago. Mexican ghost in leather fringe jacket that I would sometimes make out with 33 years ago.

4:15 pm. The time that Harcourt Brace Jovanovich would be getting out on a Friday afternoon. I can still see the queue lined up to punch out at the time clock. Another world, a lifetime ago. I reckon some of those former coworkers are long gone. I looked some up a while ago.

I think of Bob Costic. He was a few years younger than me. He was sexy and had a nice bulge. We would smoke cigarettes and stare at each other. He smoked Parliaments, I smoked Marlboro. Despite his rubbing his crotch, nothing ever came of it. I never made any overtures. It went on for a few weeks, then it petered out.

Harcourt Brace Jovanovich was my first job. I’ve written about it before and thought I would write a few entries about my employment history, but was derailed by Harpy and his beer-fueled criticism that it was boring and no one would want to read it. I trusted Harpy’s opinion and I let it get the better of me. I haven’t seen Harpy in years and he no longer participated in social media, considering it to be too narcissistic.

So with that unknown friend of Bill W absent from this stage in the game, perhaps I will pick up the mantle and start my CV stories anew. Sometimes people see me as aloof and not caring about what people say, but Harpy was proof that ain’t necessarily so.

It happened with the lupine fellow who played bass in a band named Antietam. One night in the 80s, I got an LP of South African music. I was jamming along to it by myself and having a good time doing that. I worked with the lupine fellow, and the next day I mentioned what a good time I had jamming.

Mr Punk Rock or Jazz Queer (as some fine woman from Athens GA called him) told me that there was o way I cold have sounded good jamming to a South Africa record since those guys played for years and I certainly hadn’t. It was a wounding remark that curtailed any further jamming, and I never looked at the lupine fellow the same way again.

Some mutual friends were angry with the lupine fellow, and others were surprised that I allowed him into my head like that.

Now it’s Friday evening. Mike is on the couch looking at his phone, Prince is playing live, 1986, the Parade tour, and Mexican food has been ordered to be delivered.

The laundry is done and now the 48 hour drying process begins. It had been raining all day and now it has stopped. Bill is on the road, expected to be home later on tonight. Or he may be coming home tomorrow. It’s up to him I reckon and whatever extenuating circumstances that might surround him.

Thursday afternoon, lunchtime. Sitting in Union Square. I don’t recall the last time I was here. It may have been 24 years ago. I do have memories here. I remember being with Julio in the nineties and seeing Daniel Day Lewis on a park bench. He had a look on his face that discouraged interaction, and so we didn’t interact with him.

I also remember being with Bill after 9/11 and writing “and still we rise” on a sheet of remembrance. Like everything else, it’s different than what it used to be. Farfetched was a few blocks south of here, and that no longer exists. If Farfetched were still around, I’d probably be visiting Susan and Lois. The Virgin megastore is long gone.

I can’t make out who is crazy and talking to themselves and who is merely on a phone call, wearing earbuds. The smell of weed permeates everywhere these days. Such a pungent aroma that it smells artificial. The sun is beaming in my black jeans.

A Moody Blues song plays in my head, but I couldn’t tell you the name of the song. I found a shade of your spot, sitting comfortably near some guy who’s playing Wonderwall on an acoustic guitar with a microphone so you can sing the lyrics out loud.

He seems older than I am and playing an Oasis song, but I can’t tell if he is older than me or younger than me, which has been the case lately. Younger people look and behave older than me, and older people look and behave younger than me, and then there’s me, who could only be me.

I took off from work yesterday since I didn’t sleep well the night before and wasn’t feeling well in my gastrointestinal area. I didn’t feel any guilt from that since I think I made the right decision until I spoke to Bill last night and he asked me how work was, and I told him the truth.

Spirits crashed, and guilt set in. I tried to make amends, and I hope I made amends by showing up in the office earlier and setting about starting the day, getting things done before 8:00 a.m., whether or not that was noticed, I’ll never know.

My direct manager, Beresford Marcus, seems to be a mellow kind of guy. A bit distant perhaps, but I don’t know how that stands, whether or not he’s being distant with me or just in general. I will just keep showing up and doing what I do until they say we don’t want you to do what you do anymore, please leave. Was it ballsy to take a day off in my third week of employment?

As I sit and you didn’t square writing and dictating into my phone, I realize that I am not one of those people who have my phone out all the time, only I’m not looking at things online, I’m actually writing something or at least dictating something. This is a lot more conducive and comfortable area than Tribeca ever was, at least in the past 3 years that I was working there. This guy playing the acoustic guitar seems to be doing an Oasis tribute.

I also saw the twins from the train the other day, walking through Church Square Park this morning. Seemed like a good omen.