gone are the days of New. York. City. no patti smiths or andy warhols. no basquiats looking out of their second floor window of a stable owned by andy warhol. i walk by it almost every day and imagine seeing basquiat through that same window. he isn’t there. no one is. it’s a high-end shop of some kind now. i wonder why. why doesn’t someone live in that house. how much is it worth.
bowie’s off lafayette and the ramones aren’t at cbgb’s.
apartments aren’t going for $10 in alphabet city anymore. the sunshine hotels are gone. ginsberg’s not passing me on the street. debbie harry’s nowhere.
jun19. new york city