gawain - in in new york

my new york diary of gawain, who is clearly not meant to be in nyc:

I don’t think this is the place for me. There are too many people. They are all dressed dark, in black coats. Bulky. And they all move through the streets, sidewalks, with these faces filled with purpose and they look angry. I thought they were angry at me. I tried to stay out of their way but its hard and I bumped into people a lot.

Once I tripped over a stroller, I thought the mother would kill me with her glare.

Johnson wants to meet in times square and I take the subway there. That was enough of an adventure, I wanted to go back to the hotel just to get out from underground. I bought a ticket at the machine and I wasn’t sure what to buy or how much it would cost and people in line behind me were more and more annoyed. I hurried, I did, but I wasn’t fast. Then I had the ticket and didn’t know what to do with it. I had to wait, and watch someone else; oh, I see. You pass it through the slot on the entrance gate.

And then wait for a train and the ones on the other side, going the other way, they are so loud, I reflexively covered my ears. And then felt like an idiot, no one else covered their ears. I felt like I was four years old. I forced my hands back down to my side, but my ears suffered the more for it. Incredibly loud and discordant and painful. Not like loud music. Just loud screeching and metal rubbing against metal and a whine that would shame any monster who thought he had a frightening scream.

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on itunes right now, appropriately: my iron lung