We tore out over the Triboro and through the wetlands of Queens and the Bronx to find Civic Christos and Coop Cities like great brick chunks of Stalin’s rage littered among the cat tails and the swamps. It was the dangerous nation’s birthday… and a good excuse for meat… steaks seared on the Bar B Q after the BQE and into the pool of light to float and moan like Moby Dick crying after Ahab in their unrelenting dance of revenge and erotic violence. You could see the new born birds, fresh from eggs, eating the remains of light and then it was dark and we went home again.
At home- after Whitestone and the DC 10’s landing with it’s wheels like talons and flaps fully extended and heading head on at us – the t.v. flickered blue: the Twilightzone.
