The Truth about Whores

"Beware of whores that don't want money. The Hell they don't. What they mean is that they want more money." William Burroughs.

I miss seeing William Burroughs shambling through Grand Central Station in the late afternoon.

I miss junkies too.

The other night I was at Elk Gallery on Crosby Street. Jocko Weyland was curating a photography exhibition of lurid bloody vistas of wild Italian youth. Punk, guns, and drugs with a little nakedness. A 50 year-old art critic deemed the pictures derivative. I called him passe and said there was more feeling in these naive photos than Jackson Pollack.

"Why?"

"Because I'm an ex-junkie." I never was a junkie, but it sounds good in these modern times.

The critic wanted to know my name. I said it was unimportant. The artist, a skinny 20 year-old Italian boy appreciated my defense of his work.

"I'd like to shoot you injecting heroin." He had overheard my declaration.

"Sure." I thought it out a little more. "Only if you get me the heroin and a needle. I'll provide everything else. Setting and ambiance."

He took my number and introduced me to his young girlfriend.

"I like old junkies." She smiled with a missing tooth.

The critic asked if I was trying to be a legend.

"Who cares?" I've ceased wanting anything more than a couple of beers before I go to sleep, however I wouldn't mind doing a little dope with a couple of near-naked Italian girls.

Call me square. Never a legend. I've lost my name.

See

Ale Formenti
Sangue, Sbocco & Tipe

Elk Gallery
33 Crosby Street (Between Broome and Grand)
New York, NY 10013