Last night Richard Hell played at CBGBs. I had to sneak by the doorperson Roxy to get in for free. Lisa the cashier waved me inside. The club was packed with fans drawn there by good press or the Voidoids and adolescent Catholic girls wanting to be his slave drawn there by good press or the Voidoids. Xcessive from the Ghosts kept shouting, "Richard is a forkhead."
Hell's numerous female friends yelled back at the teenager to shut up.
His lead singer Markey and I joined in.
"Richard is a forkhead."
Ivan Julian laughed and Robert Quine, the other guitarist, shook his head. We all had a good laugh.
This morning I am running late to make my job at Rector Street.
Working as a waiter in an executive dining room overlooking the harbor.
I'm always late.
I couldn't care less.
This waiting tables for nuclear engineering executives is meangingless, especially since it pays so little.
$80 a week.
I need money fast.
More money than I can get waitering or selling blood.
Alice wasn't home when I called this morning.
Her theater gig is eating up her time.
11am to midnight.
She isn't getting paid.
I've seen a number of films about the theater.
The boyfriends and husbands always wait at home.
The actresses stay out all night pretending that art is life.
I say nothing about this, because Ann is in her glory.
LATER
At work I heard another conversation about shoot-to-kill policies at the nuclear power plants in foreign countries and wondered whether the ones in the USA had the same orders in defending the plants against protestors. They never speak about atomic bombs, even though they think I'm Spanish like the rest of the waiting staff.
This afternoon I ran into Klaus. The gaunt German opera singer said, "I have no emotion."
His mother's ill-timed vist from Essen has shocked him into a state of apathy.
"I don't care in the USSR and the USA bomb each other. Or even if I am here. I grew up in a bombed out city. Ruins everywhere."
"Like the East Village?"
"Worst. You want to come over to my apartment and have some strudel."
Klaus has been cooking cakes since quitting Serendipity 3. I appreciate his generosity and said, "I love your strudel."
"I know you do." Klaus is very German, but he fights his teutonic traits in New York. I bet they would be very strong in Essen or Berlin. Klaus doesn't drink anymore. He has been sickly as of late and eats a special diet to regain his health.
"I hate feeling tired all the time. And more that that I hate watching American TV. Such schiesse."
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