trying to piece together time and place
I think it was '65
at Thompson & Bleeker
in front of the Village Gate
Hound and I after an afternoon of hoppin’
one bar to the next
first McSorley's for a dark ale deuce
followed by a dark ale deuce
followed by a dark ale deuce
followed by a lost count dark ale deuce
then the White Horse Tavern in honor of Kerouac
Ginsberg and Cassidy
dusk falls on two ass-dragging guys
snappin' fingers
whistlin’ an off-beat tune
sharing a joint with a jazz musician—
bass player as I recall
laughing at a bunch of shit we barely understand
on the way back to Wilton along the Merritt Parkway
in my stuttering red and white '56 Plymouth sedan
Hound's head hangs out the window
sucking air
then puking all over the door
next morning we drive to Stamford to see Scratch
another ragtag from Tampa U
who takes us to a friend's house to score Mexican weed
from his dealer
actually two guys coming off heroin
wrapped up like Indians in a John Wayne flick
in multi-colored horse blankets shivering
dancing around
the whole time we’re there
