My disaster stint in Alaska cost my apartment in Fort Greene.
Too many hours.
Too little money.
How little?
$100 for a thirteen hour day.
I wasn’t cut out for selling silver trinkets to geriatric cruise line passengers.
May was not the month to make sales in Juneau.
Six days a week.
I lasted a month and returned to New York with less than $600 in my pocket.
My apartment was sublet and I was $4500 in arrears to my landlord and good friend.
I worked everywhere throughout the summer.
On a house in Catskill, New York.
On a farm in Greenwich, New York.
Where a tree bloodied my skull.
My son Fenway was hurt in a motorcycle crash in Thailand.
Not bad and he remains handsome as ever.
On a house in Greenwich, New York.
My old job of selling diamonds was gone.
I hated hard labor, but it was better than not working at all, which is what I’ve been doing the last week.
A vagabond without a place to live.
I used to fit right into this street.
And one day I will again.
Just not today.
