left only ear wax on the plane,
got off cursing the dumb-dumbs
who take forever to exit.
even in the airport,
the smell of New York City
is something to behold
and hold in like a bong rip
back in the day.
inhale.
so many things flash
into view of mind.
exhale.
I could Uber,
but I take a cab for nostalgia,
captaining the driver
across the Triborough Brdge,
through Harlem,
past past homes
in which I lived
and loved,
down to the Bowery
where I squat with
a new Lauren who feeds me
leftovers and Facebook 'Likes'.
she is going somewhere
with her boyfriend for a month,
but not before blowing me
and giving me her keys
and her cat.
for the first few days,
I don't tell anyone I am back;
not Eric or Franco,
not Dan or my cousins in Queens.
I just walk and remember,
stopping only to eat or read
or write on a bench in Union Square,
or to capture comedy or music in basements
in which I know I won't run
into anyone I know.
Five days in,
I surprise Adam Santiago uptown;
we go to Joy Burger
and make plans for the summer:
travel and such.
Then I go get a job,
even though I don't need one,
because my bank account is doing okay,
but I just need a place to hide and not think,
as well as a place to meet girls
to let down.
I avoid midtown, aside
from underground on the Rumbler,
and I won't go near West 24th street.
Everytime my phone vibrates,
I get startled,
and try not to move.