Some Kinda Love

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Last night, I was early to meet a friend at an art gallery in Chelsea. Well, technically, I was late and she was even later, but it was pouring down rain so punctuality was not a factor. On my way to the gallery, I shared an awning with a psychic, in front of his neon sign that advertises, “REAL LIFE PSYCHIC READINGS.” I asked him how long the rain was going to last and he predicted twenty minutes. He was a little off.

When I reached the art gallery, I really, really had to pee-- sloshing through Chelsea, talking to psychics; it has that effect on you. So I asked the first person I saw, who looked like he knew what was going on, if I could please use the bathroom. He took one look at me, a pathetic, soaking wet nothing, and said, “No, it’s a mess. You can use the one across the street.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the mess. Please?”

“Well, I do. Swim.”

Swim, he told me to swim. I love this city! For all he knew, I could have been Peggy Guggenheim’s great granddaughter, scouting out new artists, or ok, yeah, he knew that I was definitely not Peggy Guggenheim’s great granddaughter, but still, what a fabulously New York answer!

It’s like that old joke, where the tourist asks, “Can you tell me how to get to the Empire State Building…or should I just go fuck myself?”