in the fix

Italian-ish violin music cuts through the smoke of Vietnamese kebabs and supple girls in Air Force Ones and a guy tying his girl's laces, while I cut through cement trucks and negotiate dirt piles covered in bikes that used to be sidewalks yesterday. This is what I came for. I cab to the pub. I put in headphones and listen to music while it rains on me and I think about how rain is crying in opposite, whatever that means. I think about how I'm alone here, how I've been alone everywhere I've ever been, and I realize my life isn't like anyone else's. not these Vietnamese, not these Americans, not my staff, nobody. My life is unique, and I have to get on with it alone, until it gets to a place where I can let other people in. And when you get lonely, all you have to do is remind yourself that no matter how slow things get, the dream is real and this is an insane adventure and all you have to do is sit in the park with one beer and get your fix. This is nuts. the fix is always close. You are living in the fix.