go to sleep
My bed is small, but with two pillows, a down comforter, and a seventeen-year-old teady-bear it is enough room for me to turn from side to side, and that is all I need.
I got in a taxi at about twenty after one, and arrived at Penn Station not long after (only two songs into Parachutes). The driver asked me how much I'd pay him to drive me to Long Island.
Whatever; I'd already paid my $4.25 and wasn't about to drop a load for his ass. Then I realized that in keeping with my tendency to never carry a train schedule, and thereby miss the desireable train EVERY TIME, I would have to stand in Penn Station for and hour and a half before boarding, and then another hour before making it home. And then another hour before getting into my bed.
Penn Station blows.
As a great woman once said, "Fuck that shit."
So I walked down the taxi que in front of Penn asking for rates out to Long Island.
$70 won, and the chatty bastard talked me all the way through to the end of Parachutes, but I didn't mind, because I was home an hour after saying goodnight.
Goodnight to him wasn't dredged in the murky sensation that it may possibly mean goodbye. The only misgiving I have about the night is that I was an incompetent conversationalist. Don't laugh; I really think I was dull.
But tonight was wonderful, and it is only right that I hastened myself to bed before a long night in Penn ruined the memory of this Wednesday.
Imagine finding a place where you can cradle your heart in your own arms; surrounded by warmth; listening to whispers of the best secrets from not only your past but the past of any one you love; taking in breath after breath of all the textures and smells and flavors that describe you best; and that's where I was. I guarantee you won't have much to say then, either.
Tonight was wonderful, and your right I paid a Manhattan cab to drive me out to Long Island... I'd get another one to drive me back if I could "call in sick."
