Pastrami with the pill lady.

Tags

bowie, bowne, david, dougie, iggy, katz, pills, pop

Sometimes I get an itch. I can choose to ignore it, or I can do something about it. I used to have someone I could call. She was a one stop mobile pharmers market, at it so long I had thoughts of cutting her open and counting the rings. And the East Village was where I had to meet her.

It was hardly any skin off my back, seeing how her and Farhad both lived at first and first. Along with Little Frankies, Lucien, the punjab spot, and the crown jewel Katz deli.

I remember first meeting Carla, Dougie introduced us in the evening, and earlier that day he introduced me to JG Thirwell. It was when both Dougie and Farhad lived on 1st street and that day was their block party so everyone was out. Thirwell had two bands Feotus and Steroid Maximus that I listened to as a kid. Carla had a handful of Percocets that I intended taking with me to Katz. Figured they would nicely compliment a pastrami on rye with an order of fries. The pastrami at that place is like crack, I don’t know how they do it, but it’s worth every bite.

Aziz bitched about the cost of a good Pastrami sandwich at Katz, but when you look at the going rate for quality “old Jew York” deli meats, it’s par for the course. A pastrami sandwich at Katz is sixteen dollars, so is Pastrami Queen up at 78th and Lex. Fine and Shapiro and Mister Broadway are both fifteen, Eisenbergs is on the low-end at twelve dollars, and to be honest, their pastrami is just ok.

Katz also has good hot dogs, steak fries, egg creams, brisket, and matzo ball soup. I usually don’t experiment beyond those items though my mom loves the liver. Sometimes I would bring Carla in with me when I didn’t mind listening to her rattle on. White crust on the edge of her mouth, and talking endlessly and aimlessly, you could go out of your mind having a conversation with her. If I had to work on her computer I would just focus on that and everything she said became white noise. We got into an argument on the phone once and she just wouldn’t stop talking. Even after we made up her inability to shut the fuck up prompted me to hang up on her. It wasn’t anything personal, I just couldn’t deal with it anymore.

Me Farhad, Dylan and Kin all scored from Carla one night then when to Katz. Me and Farhad split a pastrami and fries, Dylan is vegan so he just ordered beer, and Kin ordered a hamburger. The waiter hesitated and said “you come to Katz and order a hamburger?”

I once came here with my mom and Niquae, and just as we sat down a tour bus unloaded a fuck ton of Germans into the place, so many that we had to share I’ll table with two of them. Niquae was a world class bitch to them, and I have no idea why I dated that girl. I think I was in denial about just how crazy she was.

I need to go there this week, but I need someone to go with, it’s not the type of place I want to eat at alone. I learned to enjoy eating pickles at Katz. Fucking thirty year old man, and for years I was disgusted by the things. However they bring you a bowl of pickles when you sit down, so at one point I coaxed myself into taking a bite.. and low and behold and liked em.

For a while neither Dougie nor I knew where Carla was. She had gone MIA, until one day Dougie told me he found her and that she was really sick. Dougie and Carla went way back, she was a big fan of David Bowie, and Dougie played drums for Iggy Pop making them natural allies.

Carla saw a dr who was going senile, and would write her a prescription for whatever she asked for. She had xanies, vics, percs, valium, etc… it was a long extensive resume, and it was clear she got some for herself too. This explained the perpetual run-on sentences, the crust on the side of her mouth, and the stories of her being so constipated she would wake up in pain from not having gone to the bathroom in several weeks. She mentioned doing so much dope that she hadn’t shat in almost a month.

I remember eating with her at the deli to score and catch up, though I don’t remember what she had, maybe she just had a coffee? I had her over to my apartment once to fix her computer. While there I got a picture of her with her hands covering her face, and for some reason I always felt it was an appropriate pose. I should call her, maybe she’ll wanna go to Katz.

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Cookies and Ketamine

Tags

bar, chang, cookies, david, dubman, harriet, milk

Harriet Dubman came over this morning. She went on and on about having to do homework for school but how she couldn’t focus because she’d rather be on K. Apparently the previous night was the unofficial night of a thousand k-holes, and wouldn’t the world be better floating in a sea of ketamine and yadda yadda, etc… I had work to do as well but had a hard time focusing seeing how I needed to eat…not only that, I needed to go to Mikey’s Hookup.

So I told her lets go to Bedford, we can get falafel at the Oasis, and I’ll get a cf card for my camera. Then we can come back to my place, I’ll be able to focus, we’ll both finish our work, and then make time for k-holes.

We get to Bedford and hit up the Oasis first, Hook up second, then Harriet mentions that she wants a cookie. Yea, I could go for a cookie too. Initially I decided to use my iphone to find a cookie shop round us, but Apple Maps just lead us to a bunch of coffee shops. Harriet’s getting tired of walking around we still need to get home, and I decide to call Adam to see if he knows of anything in the neighborhood. He mentions a place called “Milk” over on Metropolitan and Havemeyer. Apparently this is David Changs operation, and that gives me faith.

This isn’t where you come if you are looking for a chocolate chip, or muthafuckin snickerdoodle, no sir. Cookie flavors were cornflake marshmallow, corn, blueberry & cream, confetti, and compost. I inquire bout the compost assuming that it is just odd and ends, the lips and asses of snacks. The girl behind the counter confirms my suspicions and I decide that our best move would be to just get 3 cookies, blueberry, cornflake, and compost.

Harriet bites into the blueberry cream and starts into how she hates the current status gender rules. her luck with men hasn’t been the best, and apparently has had several run-ins with men who like it up the ass. I wrote a poem for one situation in particular called “So you had a bad date“.

“Just find me one man who doesn’t want to get fucked… thats my mission, to find the one man in New York city who doesn’t want to get fucked in the ass” She exclaims spitting out bits of blueberry and cream. I am really digging these cookies, Cornflake and marsh mellow has a real nice gooeyness to it.

“I’m sick of these modern gender rules, I want shit to go back 100 years”

I hear this and ask “so you think the feminist movement was a failure?”

She breaks it down, that she feels men are too sensitive, too intouch with their feelings, and downright too feminine. She wants a man to be a man, beat the crap out of her in bed, and not expect her to fuck em. With Harriet, sex isn’t sex without bruises, this is the secret to her orgasms.

We get back to my apartment, finish our work and I realize I have no time for a k-hole, I have pictures and drinking to partake in at the bodega on the corner, aka mi casa segundo. Since the place is closing, we value it more, we enjoy it more, laugh louder and drink heavier.

It’s gonna go long tonight, which is something I need. I’m gonna need some vicodin to keep me awake all night.

We started drinking till the bodega closed at eleven, then went to Maria’s to keep going. Maria made tostones and fried pork. This helped off-set the alcohol. Vinnie started singing boleros, Mani egged him on, Maria and Eddie dance bachata, and I talked politics with this older Puerto Rican. The brugal poured heavy as I compared voting for president being just as effective as choosing paper or plastic.

This ain’t a classy affair, this is simply the ugly getting worse.

At one point in the middle of my drunken stupor, I went to the bathroom and had to use my hand against the wall to hold myself up. Seeing this I thought I liked the image and somehow felt the need to document it with a photograph. So with my right hand on the wall, left taking the photo, I was left with my waste to aim for the toilet. This is like a magic trick, I should take that act on the road.

When I decided that I had had enough, I just walked out the door saying I would be right back. Thats how I get out of saying goodbye, and I’m famous for it.

Getting ready to get worse