Even in June car sleeping gets cold when migrating through the mountains. Though it’s still nothing like being in a snow storm, broke, parked somewhere downtown Boston. *Car on, sleep, wake, car off, sleep, wake, car on, sleep, wake, wrapped up in a mink coat*
Before I became a seed of the Apple I’d drive to the village just to be in the village. I’d park my Accord on Thompson Street. When night folded I’d fold down the back seat, fold up a towel, fold up my legs in its queen sized trunk. With sunrise I'd stumble over to Stumptown on W 8th and have morning coffee.
Anyway at this minute I’m in Chicago with a sweaty glass and the last watery sip of an old fashioned. My names not Rick, this bar's not in Astoria, and its sure as hell not in Harlem.
First time I came to Chicago I got to know it in my cousins pearl-colored Cadillac. A city at my fingertips... Philly, Phoenix, Baltimore, Miami, Vegas (Las and Nash)
But none can even begin to know me like New York. And I wish it didnt have that power to push my buttons. But this comes with access to its ladder. Someday it’ll repay me with a key to Gramercy Park and whole floor of the Flatiron.