Sunday Sunday

1PM on a Sunday afternoon in New York City. It's quiet in Fort Greene. There are no people in sight. The sky is grey and I'm all alone on the top floor of the brownstone. The telephone hasn't rung all day and I haven't received any emails. It's almost as if I didn't exist or the rest of the world has been alien-abducted last evening. It's a Sunday and I'm in a Sunday mood. I had tea and toast for breakfast. I watched THE NEWSROOM and read ON THE ROAD. I played Diamond Daze on my iPad. I've yet to leave my apartment. The Yankees are playing the Red Sox. I have given the season a rest after last year's collapse by my beloved Bosox. It's a slow news day. Assange is telling the USA to give up its witchhunt and a 62 year-old woman is swimming from Cuba to the USA without a shark cage. A fly is buzzing around my desk. It wants a sip of my tea. I shooed it away without saying a word. I have yet to speak today. It's time to get out of the house. Maybe I'll sit on the stoop and sell some books. Yesterday I made $3, which was the most money I made this month. Sunday, sunday, it is a day of quiet and not riot.