An e-mail

Subject: It's cold, but I stayed in all day
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For those who have an aversion to computer screen radiation,
My belongings and life are now placed at this coordinate in the
largest of all cities,

.....169 Manhattan Ave. Apt. 3A
.....New York, NY 10025

I share Apt. 3A with Brian, a good guy from college, who works at his job weekdays while I search for mine. We have this space until April 15, whence I move onto some other arrangement in New York I'm not yet aware of.

Best wishes,
Abe

Jan 15, 2005
one of the most beautiful days of my life, you are in the midst of...
the city is a fresher thing than any the world, a morning I get up, together my kind cousin Marilyn and I decide, stroll the subway blocks to SoHo for breakfast before I leave. She has housed me this week, cooked me fluffy eggs and potatos for my flu--the passage of rite for
all newcomers--and I quickly have a newfound friend, in this, my new town, no less. An Irish pub on the corner is a pleasant transmuted breafaster, we are the first for its saturday brunch winking alive, and select the oaken table for two that admire the generous panoramic
sidewalking street.

An hour later, we say farewell, and the farther away her studio pulls, the more rigorously my maniacal friend's (and as of today, roommate) heavy foot pounds on the pedal--gas & break both--to make our one p.m. key handoff. It's quarter past and I phone K to say we're to be (or,
are) late. Traffic, right, what else.

Corner of 108th and Manhattan ave., it's a beautiful sight already, heading there ahead, is the slope of Central Park, browned over by crisp dead leaves on green across spaces where the trees and people don't run. Up the elevator (a nice one) two floors and I'm rushed into annotated directions for sublet usage before K rushes out; he's late for his own appointment, now. Brian, the roommate, his car parked, comes in, and in my impulsive raid of our new cabinets, I bartend two Jamison's on the rocks (the Stoli tideline ran too low not
to be missed by our hosts), to toast and pay respects to fallen fears in the face of this mansion--polished wooden floors, plush couches armchairs a penguin shaped shower radio all--we have inherited. For three months; but still three months--cheers!, and we are euphoric,
and take it all in lounging...

I wander the streets a bit (and since I yet have mentioned, yes, it is biting cold, but I smile against it today) and decide to take the C down to Port Authority; FedEx has hold of my shipment, and when I arrive home (...home), the notebook PC is surprisingly likeable, and I
christen it, when prompted, Abracomp.

It is evening now, and I am starving, so I venture out three blocks north to Saurin Park Cafe, where the candlelights are dim and the spinach is melted fresh into the cheese on chicken to give it crisp. And, no less, the free wifi relieves my duty from weeklong battles with old grumpy men over the tail or head end of 30 min online library sessions. It is here in this self-contained intimacy of cafe in the night--where the belligerently curt Mi-kehhhl (Michael, really, as he
insulted me with his look into correcting) is offset agreeably by the Belle waitress from New Zealand named Katie, with a smile that would disarm to tender skin a porcupine--where from I write this all to someplace you are out there.

Jan 19, 2005
It's been four days now into first month's rent. The lid is open, the contents are draining, I went shopping yesterday in cost-efficient Chinatown, but the oranges are all rotten (the first one) or otherwise dry & unsweet. I still eat the latter for the fiber; i still feel sick in mornings, or, that's the reason for staying in today, for the first time since, laying for the day in bed instead of out there walking the sidewalks for jobs, or pacing across the internet all day (today, only did for the first hours of the day, since I truly think I have depleted the *internet* of its job content; so i'll give it time, to replenish). Soon, I will rise from this bed to cook my first dinner here in my new city, my new apt. Hey mom, dad, but don't you worry about this hollow scene I've projected about myself--I failed to mention the lovely voices that have staved off lonesomeness: Bob Dylan Dave Matthews Eddie Vedder Miles Davis Monk Coltrane, quite the reassuring collection of friends--they've all had their rites passed in this city--well, I only know Dylan for sure, told me in Chronicles, but I imagine so...

I'll tell you what I've told everyone, I *love* this city; everything's moving, the window, moving people of this city, which there are always plenty of, the way to get around, moving, the train,
the waiting and the jumping transfers moving, the things to figure out moving, the things to figure out, all the things to figure, figure it out!, move along with everything else and you can't ignore it here in this city.

Enough about me: Be sure to come by--I'll take you around, I've got the unlimited MTA rail pass.