One hundred and fifteen years and a few face lifts later, we rumbled across her and over the East River late the other night. I don’t recall seeing the tracks for the J and Z trains that come subterranean and appear drivers side left only to quickly disappear back into their dark depths before we enter on Delancy. I wonder if they’ve been rerouted, I find myself missing the nostalgia of it all, the shrieking of steel against steel, the flashes of electric sparks.
Nightly crossings of The Willie B are far from new experiences as years back, my fellow droogs and chelovecks and I bounced along the bars of the Bowery. We slam-danced and brawled at CBGB’s hitting them all with the misto, we spun the wheel only to drink from a boot or a toilet bowl (not an actual toilet bowl, but yes to an actual boot) at Aces & Eights, danced and drank till dawn at FLOAT and CHAOS and that’s just a light glazing over, of our downtown – Lower East Side frolicking activities — ah yes, those were the days and not a single name remains.
This night, so many years later, I drive over the Willie B and it’s lit with an outline of pink and a electric lime green, to what holiday or event the colors are speaking to, I haven’t a clue, I don’t want to know. I’m getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut and wonder what’s causing it.
It’s many things I suppose, but more than any single disturbance in the force, it’s the knowledge that it appears to no longer be a city that I am connected with. NYC is a city my family has lived in and served in and was a part of creating for over three hundred years, we have an avenue to our name and it’s in the wrong hands.
So off I go, pulling up the remaining roots behind me to stuff them in a sack to be replanted somewhere else.
“So Long and Thanks For All the Fish” – HHG2TG, it’s the message the dolphins leave before they depart