Last night Alice opted to stay at her girlfriend’s Chinatown loft to work on the Vaudeville Show without calling me. This morning I woke to an empty bed. The show’s importance outweighed any consideration and I suspect our romance has come to an end. Sean Hausman called to work for clearing an East 11th Street lot. The pay $40 with the promise of three more days work for his father’s film. I have no idea of the name. It’s raining hard, but hard work in a hard rain never stopped me from working and I need the money.
Later.
Work was easy, but cold and wet. The early wake-up call after a late night exhausted my body and I returned to 256 and ran a hot bath. I shut off the hot water and then turned on the TV, then laid on the kitchen floor wrapped in two towels. Good thing I hadn’t gotten into the bath, otherwise I might have drowned, since I woke with a shudder and hour later. As I reheated the bath, I thought about if my death might have headlined on the NY Post.
PUNK DROWNS IN EAST VILLAGE APARTMENT.
The Patriots lose to Dallas after leading 10-3. Their record guarantees them a place in the playoffs, but their kicking in my ribs sucks.