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Description
"Stood up on the train"

I've noticed everything here, in particular
New York, sounds like a pop culture
larger than life reference. "Next stop
is Harlem, 125th street", "go east on
42nd street".
This city is positively vibing and
throbbing with music, there were a hip
soul band bang in the middle of
Times Square with a female singer,
seducing every word she sang, and
at the same time the audience of
bystanders. A guitarist who rode the
groove as if it would've taken more
extraneous effort to sleep, and a
saxophone, who darted eyes at himself
like a bee buzzing to pollen.
Me & my companion stopped off at
a music shop on Broadway corner, 49th Street
which was run by a man who
embodied everything I was hoping for from
america. This guy lived and breathed
music, in particular Jazz. He regailed
us with stories about listening to
Sonny Rollins while growing up, and
we agreed in that moment not to
trust anyone who says they don't like
Ornette. We picked up sounds by Don
Cherry, John Coltrane & Eric Dolphy and
I even got a picture of my
companion and him, grinning ear
to ear comfortable in the knowledge
that would dig the record of our
band that I gave him
Every line in the guys face embedded
with the feel of an old world,
NY black & white photography jazz,
breathing it in and still digging it,
enthusiasm never waning over the power
and electricity of Dolphy blowing into
a sax.
We lefted and righted our way around
times square, going into shops & bars
and anything we could find like we
were trying to find our way thru
some crazy digital maze. Stop for a
bite at the Hard Rock Cafe, staring
at George Harrison's acoustic guitar while
squeezing lime into another ice cold beer.
We amble our way up Times Square,
open eyed at the lights, people
everything and we end up at another
bar, with a mirrored staircase to I
don't know what.
Waitresses clad in black, with Ice drinks
delivering to slavering mouths devoid of
moisture, in short black skirts, heat
from the street, and I wipe my neck
with a napkin and make our way
further thru the maze of WALK-DONT WALK
signs.
We fussed and fumbled our way to Grand Central
station for the ride home, all the
while asking passers by the way to go.

Description
"Stood up on the train"

I've noticed everything here, in particular
New York, sounds like a pop culture
larger than life reference. "Next stop
is Harlem, 125th street", "go east on
42nd street".
This city is positively vibing and
throbbing with music, there were a hip
soul band bang in the middle of
Times Square with a female singer,
seducing every word she sang, and
at the same time the audience of
bystanders. A guitarist who rode the
groove as if it would've taken more
extraneous effort to sleep, and a
saxophone, who darted eyes at himself
like a bee buzzing to pollen.
Me & my companion stopped off at
a music shop on Broadway corner, 49th Street
which was run by a man who
embodied everything I was hoping for from
america. This guy lived and breathed
music, in particular Jazz. He regailed
us with stories about listening to
Sonny Rollins while growing up, and
we agreed in that moment not to
trust anyone who says they don't like
Ornette. We picked up sounds by Don
Cherry, John Coltrane & Eric Dolphy and
I even got a picture of my
companion and him, grinning ear
to ear comfortable in the knowledge
that would dig the record of our
band that I gave him
Every line in the guys face embedded
with the feel of an old world,
NY black & white photography jazz,
breathing it in and still digging it,
enthusiasm never waning over the power
and electricity of Dolphy blowing into
a sax.
We lefted and righted our way around
times square, going into shops & bars
and anything we could find like we
were trying to find our way thru
some crazy digital maze. Stop for a
bite at the Hard Rock Cafe, staring
at George Harrison's acoustic guitar while
squeezing lime into another ice cold beer.
We amble our way up Times Square,
open eyed at the lights, people
everything and we end up at another
bar, with a mirrored staircase to I
don't know what.
Waitresses clad in black, with Ice drinks
delivering to slavering mouths devoid of
moisture, in short black skirts, heat
from the street, and I wipe my neck
with a napkin and make our way
further thru the maze of WALK-DONT WALK
signs.
We fussed and fumbled our way to Grand Central
station for the ride home, all the
while asking passers by the way to go.