An Attempt At Exhausting A place in the Financial District

ymfy: A truck pulls up, obscuring my view of the street. It says “Dynamic Pacific Enterprise” on the side in large and small caps. A man and a woman sit next to me at the bar looking out into the street. She tells him about her dream, which is to become a surf instructor. She tells him first she needs to learn how to surf. An old woman seems to be studying my face. She is looking at a menu taped on the window. I become an Asian mannequin. This guy has the most monotone voice in the world. I close my eyes and imagine Dilbert. I try to tune him out. A beautiful Asian woman walks by, I try to picture her naked. I can’t. Fake Paul Krugman strolls by. He has a double-breasted coat, camel colored. An old Asian lady wearing a hairnet drags along a huge tote bag. I can’t get this banal talk these two are having out of my head. Dilbert tells her about the time he tried to save himself, and how he was heartbroken in the process. I don’t know if I should laugh at him, or feel sorry for myself. I choose ridicule. Pigeons fly in and out of view.

(Editor’s note: This was scrawled into a notebook of mine over a year ago, transcribed for you today.)