Thread by @NancyRomm

I am wearing a small black leather jacket, kind of a Patti Smith-1970s thing, I imagine, though maybe it’s because my friend has just sent me this image and it’s in my mind.

I think, maybe, what Smith was saying was in reference to the Chelsea Hotel. I can tell you that this guy I slept with, who lived in his mother’s brownstone (we were 23) on East 3rd, part of the Hell’s Angels encampment, told me he once had to jump out of a window at the Chelsea.

because he was sleeping with some guy’s girlfriend. He showed me what he said was a gun shot, or maybe a knife wound, in his gut. He was a little fat. I liked that. Also, that when I met him, he was the youngest guy in a construction crew and they made him jackhammer the ceiling.

I only slept with him twice, both times in the basement bedroom of his mother’s place, and each time, for reasons I cannot explain, I lost my panties.

But the jacket. It doesn’t match where I am right now, in a farmhouse outside of Rhinebeck. You will or will not recognize...

...the things you find in the bathroom of such a house, an old black velvet scrunchie, some ancient face cream that smells like ass, that’s where I am tonight.

I sat and watched Biden’s speech. I brought the woman who dates my brother some toilet paper, she was crying so much.

My mother complimented Biden’s teeth. I wasn’t moved or not moved, but I appreciate that young granddaughter who came out dancing, come on, why not?

It’s early still, time for one more tequila