the pin stripes of the yankees, the verticles, and then the high risers, the Empire State and her glittering bejewelled lover the Chrysler. oh she dropped one, the diamond stud, the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue. the autumn, turns the Apple crisp, but before she cools,we take a bow in Queens.delivered on the F-train, it's bouncing yellow spheres, blue courts and sweaty balls, its grunts and moans, pleated skirts, racquets, sweat bands and a Scottishman. the heat rises from the concrete floor slapping you every which way, but who cares, cos you're in Noo Yark city. 
the streets of Chelsea, the Gagosian Art Gallery, Richard Phillips, artist and film maker, his larger than life realistic images of the strawberry Lindsay Lohan and Sasha Grey. My eye's they couldn't stop staring, drinking in Lindsay, finding it difficult to quench their thirst. my blue cirulean orbs turning to rainbow coloured lollypops. after Shades of Grey this was this most accessible porn not found under the bed of a pimply teen. a trail of drool down west 23rd street and a Dr Pepper as coolant.
the midday sun grills and you find yourself at anchor on the Intrepid. the star, the ship, its the Enterprise. its a Shuttle and an ode to the Americans endeavour. the day is dawning cos you've queued for hours to go submarining. so you pull out your point and shoot, it's unlocked and you're firing wildly, its staccato, ratatat tat F-16 F15, Blackbird, Hueys and in the distance Chinook. the day is at its end and you've en-gulfed 3 times one dollar slices of cheese.
the 7-train shuttles you to Lawng Eyeland City. Who explores Long Island City? Dora? there sits the Isamu Noguchi gallery. Isamu sculptor and influencer of architects agreat. 5 Points, an unrivalled graffitti explosion. the battered buildings caressed in a rainbow's ejaculation. you leave the City and chug back litres of amber, pale and dark, the world is spinning, she asks you to dance, but you don't tango.
the cloak of night falls over gotham city. but as you keep sucking on the black nixxer ball, the colourful City reveals itself. Neon lights and flashing bulbs.
oh my gosh, you're running, you tell Jess where you're at, where you're going. she tells you, 'if i were you i'd...".you throw anchors, your feet halting to a grinding stop, turning up pavement, you swivel, and with blistering speed, the buildings a blur, you kick the curb and flying at Concordian knots you land up with a paper cut from a free ticket to see live in concert in Central Park the Foo Fooo Fighters and one-note Neil Young, the oldest dodgiest geyser you've ever seen strum a geet.
with the riffs of rock reverberating off of the hammer, the anvil and Clint's stirrups, you swipe your Metro card and board a shiny shimmering rail car to Brooklyn. moseying down Fulton Street, dodging baseball caps and low hung jeans, you picture yourself shooting hoops with jayzee and alee-shia-ah. then high fiving all your new homee's, you come a Knock knock knocking on DopeJams record store. scouring the vinyl, out pops Miriam Makeba, and she's ready for a twirl.
you then fill up on tacos and hummus and craft beer and settle back into the Rockwood Music Hall for some ridiculously sublime live music that penetrates your heart, that lets you in on New York's secret. she is the centre of the arts, that girls playing violin are exceptional and that a falafel can make you dirty.
you wake up, the sweat stained streets, and lingering arabiatic aroma leave skid marks across your nostrils, you throw on your runners, and you ring Jess's doorbell. the grided streets push you to its out skirts. you're barely limber and you're off. 8th 9th 10th Ave. West Street Highway. You run the Hudson. Jersey flashes past you, WTC, your beacon. bobbing pony tails and lycra tights. the smile, you can barely tear it off of your mug. you grip a joe joffee, and angle your way up the Highline, you're gaping, you put your jewellery on the line and say, 'this is probably the greatest space in Manhatten'
your journey is but a purchase of a new pair of Nike sneakers from being done.it's over. the turbulent wake of New York leaves you behind. it didn't even see you, you've left very little for it to remember you by, 1000's will fill your void.
There can be only one Russian Bear Hunter.
'Dont let "them" tell you who you are or where you should be. Life, Live it'
'if you don't eat your meat, you cannot have any pudding'
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