The Dirt and Grime on the Big Apple

NYC in the 70’s. What a time it must

have been. Warhol, Steely Dan, CBGB’s

the bohemian mixed with the bourgeoisie.

Enough money to rent a Leer jet on the

weekend, but you take the subway to

your loft in Queens to keep your edge.

Beat back the Coke shakes with Ludes and

snorted Smack. Then stand up at Carolines,

steak at Sparks, and late night Jazz at Birdland

before the taxis arrive with the sunrise.

A hundred dollar bill to the mugger to avoid

the .38 plug to the ribs. Then Son of Sam shoots out your

side window.

“Fuck it,” you think.

“I’ll be dead before Carter’s out of office anyway.”