Yesterday meteorologists predicted the season's first snowstorm heading toward New York.
Their forecast warned of a 6-10 inch accumulation or what I called a Marc '10 and 1/2 Inches' Stevens Blizzard.
A real blizzard hit New York in 1978 and I partied with Marc and his tranny girlfriend Jill Monroe throughout the three days the city was shut down like a Siberian Gulag. No one was gong anywhere.
We did drugs and more.
I vowed to both of them to never to say what, but in truth nothing happened.
We were high on blow.
Marc's vaunted penis was a green bean and mine was a cashew.
And Jill had been trimmed by doctors in Holland. She wanted our worse.
Neither Mark or I could do a thing.
When the icy tempest subsided, I left their Bleecker Street apartment.
"Remember, not a word." Marc kissed my cheek.
He had a reputation to protect.
Back in my boarding house on East 11th Street I pulled the covers up to my chin.
Safe but not really sound
No comments:
Post a Comment