Refusing to be part of whatever you’ve bought with unpaid debt, regret, a bunch of assholes milling around on the corner calling girls by names that don’t belong to them, and using the word "fuck" like a piece of disposable literature. Like the Post, or Times or whatever. (Fuck you, you fucking fuck!) I have a nametag. It reads like an act of Congress or a cartoon caption. "Release The Anvil!"

Three vehicles smash into one another on the corner of 8th Avenue and 34th St., A Mazda, a Toyota and a huge Global Van Lines Moving truck. Everyone gets out of their cars except for the truck driver, they look at the "damage" shake their hands and scream "Fuck You! This is New York!" everyone gets in and drives away.

I stand in the Port Authority Bus Station talking to the woman behind the bulletproof glass at the Peter Pan Bus Lines ticket booth. I say, "Isn’t Peter Pan the stupidest name ever for a Bus!" For a moment she loses composure smirks and then quickly resumes her steadfast stonefacedness. "Where are you going?" She asks. "To Hell most likely," I reply. "But I’ll be riding Peter Pan like a great green bull!" I make sure to scream "Peter Pan!" four or five times in the lobby as I talk on my cell phone to someone. It doesn’t matter who. Nobody even turns around to notice I was jumping up and down while screaming. Fucking New York!
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