Insta-Piece – Smoke Curls Up From The Manhole

Where – Waiting For Jamie Outside 1411 Broadway

Drip drop rain-plops spit from the grey sky, 6:46 PM on a gloomy Tuesday. The world buzzes out and around like ants from a colony, all with purpose, whether they know it or not. A series of ones and zeroes all connected yet independent in the great program of right now.

Smoke pours from the manhole cover on 41st and Broadway. The mist filters out the neon blare of Times Square billboards and tourist-centric distraction. The smoke is a friend, a reminder of Scorcese’s NYC: Taxi Driver, Mean Streets, After Hours. 1970’s sex, drugs and decadence. The time of Cesear with more trannies.

The smoke has left and the glare pushes through but I wish that mist would return, the movie in my head playing over and over with a Miles Davis song cooing on the soundtrack. Wet sound of cabs screaming southbound, the damp footfalls of shoes on pavement, the smell of food truck meat simmering on open griddles. The scene is set as the colony slithers and stretches into the foggy night. And my minds wanders off to scenes yet filmed.